<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>What the Water Gave Me by sug4plum</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866639">What the Water Gave Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sug4plum/pseuds/sug4plum'>sug4plum</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure &amp; Romance, Best friend Preston has some thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence, Codsworth has trouble telling humans apart, Danse is nosy, Eventual Canon Divergence, F/M, Nora isn't human, Slow Burn, cleaning up plot gaps, she's not a sociopath but she is murderous, sole has notes on the Codex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:09:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sug4plum/pseuds/sug4plum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thawed out and horrified by the state of the world, the woman formerly known as Nora sets off to bring the wasteland to heel and find her missing son. She’ll politick, manipulate, and kill until she’s built something of this godawful mess.  But the Wasteland is tough, and she'll need allies to survive. </p><p>Paladin Danse thinks that if only the civilian who keeps blasting her way through Cambridge would join up, he wouldn’t have to worry about her so much. But when he finally does convince her to join the Brotherhood, he finds his worrying has barely begun.  </p><p>A story playing off some of the more fantasy aspects of Fallout, because there’s no way high level Nora is human.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nate/Female Sole Survivor, Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. October 2077 - November 2287</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Change was the only constant. Things that had seemed eternal were gone. Ways of life that appeared unchanged for centuries had disappeared, wiped away by the tide of progress. Technology. Industrialization.</p><p>Humanity.</p><p>There were still dark things in the world, in the shadows creeping down mountainsides in the late afternoon, lurking beneath the boughs in the forest depths, and in the unexplored trenches of the seas. She—currently called Nora—knew that because she was one of them. But the world had changed.</p><p><em>The ceremony of innocence was drowned</em>.</p><p>No lorelei’s singing could be heard over an outboard motor. A selkie who stayed in the sea died poisoned with lead and plastic. The cranes were starving on towards extinction.</p><p>And so there she was, Mrs. Nora Howard, sipping coffee brewed by a Mr. Handy, letting the baby soothe himself in his crib, thinking about an afternoon picnic with her husband as a news broadcast interrupted the morning show.</p><p>And things changed again. They ran, without thinking, throwing away every careful plan they’d made in a rush of panic and fear.</p><p>If she’d been better, if she hadn’t still been aching and weak, thoughts muddled by the terror of those around her—by her godsdamned herd instinct—she would never have gone into the vault. Instead, as they huddled together and the giant gears ground beneath them, she thought: <em>ten, twenty years, we can do it. I can make sure things go the right way. I can protect us</em>.</p><p>The world exploded and there was no other choice as she pulled Nate and Shaun close, thinking maybe she could shield them if this damn thing didn’t start moving.</p><p>And she climbed into the pod.</p><p>Later, she’d think it was one of the greatest mistakes of her long and eventful life. A greater mistake than marrying an army major in a secret ceremony on the frontlines in Alaska. A greater mistake than falling pregnant on the eve of the worst war the world had known.</p><p>When she woke, Nora didn’t know what was happening. When she finally realized what <em>was</em>happening, she discovered she was trapped. Before that terrible day, metal and glass would have proved no barrier, like punching through a shoji screen. Now, when she punched the window, screaming, her knuckles split. Pain streaked through her hand and up her arm. And the glass stayed intact.</p><p>A sneering faced peered in through the bloodstreaked window as she threw herself forward. Her weight barely shifted the pod and the man outside chuckled. She paused to memorize the face.</p><p>What this filthy, wretched, murderous man didn’t realize was that nobody took things from her and got away with it. She struck out again, battering the door until it faded into the haze.</p><p>~~~</p><p>When the pod finally opened, a different woman emerged. Still aching from muscles that hadn’t healed, trembling with the cold and hunger, she dragged herself to the surface and emerged into watery sunlight 200 years too late.</p><p>“Gods fucking damn it,” she said, stuffing the box of 10mm ammo down the front of her vault suit and squinting against the glare. The useless outfit hadn’t come with pockets. “I’m going to kill them all.”</p><p>She wasn’t sure who <em>they </em>were yet, only that they were going to pay.</p><p>Each step was a struggle and her stomach roiled. Her legs could barely support her weight. The blood on her hand had frozen the gashes closed, but now that it was melting, she thought she might just have dislocated something. It was an unsettling thought. The whole experience had been horrifying in ways she hadn’t thought possible and couldn’t really understand.</p><p>Desperation and a lack of direction drove her back to Sanctuary.</p><p>Instead she found ruination.</p><p>“Ma’am? Ma’am is that you?!” Codsworth came flying around the house towards her, eyes bobbing up and down and limbs shaking. For however long had passed, he was remarkably intact.</p><p>She let out a long breath of relief and slumped against the remaining siding, which groaned beneath her and began to flake apart.</p><p>“Codsworth, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you’ve made it.” It was pure relief to speak to something, to know that something existed in the world aside from giant insects.</p><p>“Oh ma’am, you’ve been gone so long!”</p><p>“Believe me, it was not by choice. Come with me.” She forced herself upright, unable to stop for fear she would never start again. She walked around the house, scanning the overgrown yards and the distant trees. There was no telling what new horrors lurked there. Under the bleached remains of some astroturf, she uncovered a set of metal cellar doors.</p><p>“Ms Nora, I’ve been so lonely. It’s so good to have you back!”</p><p>The name hit like a punch to her already battered frame. She couldn’t—she gasped for air.</p><p>“No, Codsworth, not—not Nora. Not without Nate.”</p><p>He stopped short, eyes adjusting. “Oh alright then, ma’am. What—what should I call you?”</p><p>That brought her to a stop. She cycled through names, silently cataloging the loss each represented. It was perhaps a twisted sense of humor that finally brought a new one to mind.</p><p>“Let’s say Chouko for now. That’ll do.”</p><p>“Ms Chouko, what are you doing with the old cellar?”</p><p>“I’m—” Her sentence ended in a huff as she pulled on the rusted doors. Her hands slipped off the handles and she stumbled back. “Gods what’s wrong with this thing?”</p><p>“It <em>has </em>been two centuries. I’ll go get the oil.”</p><p>A November chill hung in the air, but there was no woodsmoke, no reassuring smells of the world. Instead there was a mustiness to the woods, too much decomposition, new and unfamiliar molds. Finally, with Codsworth’s help, she wrenched the doors open and nearly fell down the narrow stairs. The lights flickered on, revealing Nate’s end of the world cache: enough purified water and MREs for the two of them for six months (half eaten through by vermin), purification tablets, camping equipment, hiking clothing that had mostly disintegrated, a collection of half-rusted rifles and ammo, and his old T-45 power armor, though the fusion core was no good.</p><p>“I’m sorry, my love,” she said, running a hand down the armor’s breastplate, lost for a moment on a snowy base half a world and hundreds of years away. “You were right, and I was wrong.”</p><p>Tears leaked out as Codsworth made some attempts to be soothing behind her. But it wasn’t time for weeping. She’d done it in the vault while pulling his ring from a frozen finger before sealing him away, and she’d do it again when she had her baby back.</p><p>In the meantime, there was work to do.</p><p>~~~</p><p>When Chouko rolled into Concord, sporting her old flight jacket and bits of armor she’d scavenged off the bodies she’d encountered along the way, she was ready for a fight. She wasn’t ready for the responsibility of saving other people.</p><p>She let them follow her back to Sanctuary, and frankly she didn’t trust them to go there without her. The dog ran off as soon as they reached town, but she didn’t have the heart to demand he stay by her side. He’d been a heartbreaking surprise, something so familiar, so close but not quite a relation.    </p><p>“That’s my house,” she told the battered group. “Don’t go in there. You all can do what you want with the other houses and the woods, but not that one.”</p><p>“What if there’s useful scrap in there? What if we need some of it?” Marcy eyed her. The woman was bitter, and angry, and full of an all-consuming pain Chouko knew only too well.</p><p>“I’ll fucking kill you,” Chouko said and turned away from them all.</p><p>“Ma’am, have you found help?” Codsworth came scooting down the cul-de-sac towards them.</p><p>All of the refugees cringed back, aside from Sturges, who hefted a wrench.</p><p>“No, Codsworth, I found some pets.”</p><p>“You and Major Nate do love to entertain. Welcome everyone, I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything to drink aside from water.”</p><p>Chouko retreated into the house, unable to deal with the bleak unhappiness outside or the growing knowledge that this was really how the world was now. She’d killed at least a dozen humans so far that day. She hadn’t done that with her own hands in centuries. Even more centuries now, she reminded herself as she lay down on the kitchen floor and stared at her poor attempt to patch the hole in the roof. She’d caused deaths, yes. She’d put guns in soldiers’ hands and pointed them in the right direction. She’d made phone calls, had meetings in smoky cafes and on international flights. But she hadn’t ever taken a gun and pointed it at one human after another and stolen the life out of each of them. She was beyond that, or so she’d thought.</p><p>“Um, excuse me? Hello?”</p><p>Chouko sat up and looked over at the door. The Minuteman stared back at her.</p><p>“Are you ok?”</p><p>Chouko lay back down.</p><p>“I killed them,” she said when she felt his presence lingering in the doorway. “I killed those people for you.”</p><p>There was a tense pause, but the man didn’t leave. “Look, I’m sorry to have put you in that position, I really am. A nice person like you—” he tripped here, as if remembering her threat to Marcy. “The world’s a harsh place and if you can’t get into a secure settlement, you have to learn to defend yourself and the things you care about. It was a rough way to have to learn that, but I’m thankful you came through for us.”</p><p>“You’re the only people I’ve seen in a week. I was as desperate for you as you were for me.”</p><p>“What happened to everyone else? This is a really good spot. I’m surprised anyone would leave you alone here.”</p><p>“They died,” Chouko pushed herself up onto her knees. “Either when the bombs dropped, or in the vault, they died.”</p><p>He stared at her, mouth ajar as she got to her feet.</p><p>“It would have been more accurate if I’d said it’s been two hundred ten years and about five weeks since I talked to a human.”</p><p>~~~</p><p>Chouko got somewhat used to them. They were just people after all, even in this wasteland, and she had plenty of experience with people.</p><p>“We have no food!” Marcy’s arms were wrapped around herself and she stamped her foot at her teary-eyed husband. “It’s almost December and we’re going to starve.”</p><p>“I don’t think you’ll starve.”</p><p>Marcy jumped at Chouko’s voice and Jun sort of moved between her and his wife. Sturges was more sanguine, nodding hello and opening up the circle a little further. She liked Sturges; he seemed the least neurotic of the bunch and he was doing his best to boss her around like he did Marcy and Jun.</p><p>“I don’t suppose you’ve got some stockpiled or something?” he said, eyeing her.</p><p>Chouko walked them over to the neighbor’s root cellar, pulled back the dry brush piled over the doors, and let them in.</p><p>“You can have what’s in here. But you have to ration it; Salsbury Steak doesn’t grow on trees.”</p><p>“Are you serious?” the mechanic looked down into the store of pre-war food and then back up at her.</p><p>“What’s the catch?” Marcy demanded.</p><p>Chouko shrugged. She’d spent those first few days out of the vault recovering as much of her strength as she could and systemically looting everything nearby. Then she and Codsworth had sorted her takings. “Everything in there has meat in it and I’m a pescatarian.”</p><p>“What the fuck is a pescatarian?” Marcy demanded.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Preston said. “You really are pre-war.”</p><p>“What is a pescatarian?”</p><p>Since it was Jun asking, Chouko tried to force some manners.</p><p>“I don’t eat meat except for fish.”</p><p>That had been brought on by necessity, and a somewhat dark urge on her part. She wasn’t the only one though, everyone needed calcium, no matter how sanctimonious they acted. It had, however, put her family off talking to her for the better part of a century.</p><p>“Are you—” Marcy squints, as if she thinks there’s a creature in a woman-suit in front of her. She’s not exactly wrong. “Are you serious? Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous fish are?!”</p><p>“It’s almost December and you all have to keep me company. Think of it as me buying the entertainment.” Chouko shrugs, because what else is left?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Marcy's relentless hostility gets to me a bit in the game, but she's in a very similar position as the sole survivor so I think they'd eventually get to a point of mutual understanding.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Late December 2287</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For anyone who read Ch1 when it was first posted, I added a part 2 when I realized how short it was. Also, there's a switch to present tense here. I'm not sure why but I felt it was a better fit. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is twenty miles from Concord to Fenway, half an hour’s drive on a day without traffic, forty-ish minutes more normally.</p><p>It took Chouko two months just to get to Cambridge. Two months of helping the settlers she collected in Concord set up house and getting lessons about the current state of the world in return. Taking a few excursions with Preston to help nearby hamlets and get the benefit of his experience navigating this strange new world. Time to retrain her muscles on how to hold a gun and how to shoot. Two months to understand the limits of her body in her new, weakened state. And two months of wiping out anything remotely threatening in the neighborhood so she has a safe place to retreat when she recovers Shaun.</p><p>She has no way of knowing how long it has been between his kidnapping and her waking. None of the bodies in the vault had decomposed, but they’d all still been frozen, so she forces herself to go slowly, to move cautiously. One wrong step in this terrible new world would mean there is no chance of saving her baby, so she refuses to go astray.</p><p>Chouko walks into Cambridge on high alert, the dog at her heels scanning the street. They both know there are dangers all around them.</p><p>Harvard Square. It is at once better and worse than she imagined. The little news stands that had always been surrounded by tourists still stand, though their shelves are empty. Her pip boy tells her half the bodies lying around them aren’t dead enough, yet. Shops either have no doors and blown out windows or are boarded up tight. She’d pried some boards off windows early on and found that people had boarded up houses with ghouls still inside.</p><p>Raiders don't scare her, they are just people doing the same sorts of terrible things people have always done. Super mutants are horrifying and dangerous, but normally large and loud enough that she's able to hide and avoid the few she’s seen. But the ghouls—something about them brings on an existential dread which is only made worse when she recognizes one of them from before.</p><p>The sane, rational, intelligent part of her brain—the part that has kept her alive through hellfire and ice and tells her to sneak quietly away—can't compete with the other part of her. That other part had gone mad in the vault, she thinks in the brief moments where she can actually pause and consider her situation. It has finally been driven over the edge by loss and the shock of her helplessness.</p><p>That part says: <em>kill them all</em>.</p><p>Burn away everything bad in the new world like everything good had been burned away from the old world.</p><p>So she creeps across the square to a newsstand and rolls one of the large trashcans out from its side a few feet. Chouko climbs on top, testing her balance, but the old metal is still sturdy and supports her weight. Something stirs inside the newsstand. Chouko is in too far to stop, so she whistles.</p><p>The dog leaps into her arms and she tosses it onto the roof. Around the square, the ghouls begin to notice her, to turn and run in their disjointed, wobbly way. She tosses her pack up next to the dog and jumps. Once, it would have been easy, but now she barely catches the edge of the roof and has to swing herself up while the metal groans and deforms under her hands.</p><p>Her heart is in her throat and the sounds the creatures make below is enough to nearly panic her. Instead, Chouko takes a steadying breath and unslings her rifle. She can let the ghouls clamor below, they can't climb. She tells herself that over and over again as she lays out a few clips and pushes the dog back from the edge.</p><p>“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” she tells him in response to a whine. “I said I would take care of you, puppy.”</p><p>She takes another slow, steadying breath, and evaluates her targets. As Nate used to say, it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel. The thought of him brings a bitter smile to her lips.</p><p>“I wish you were here,” she says to the empty air as she slides a familiar holotape into her pipboy. When she scrolls to the side it asks her if she wants to play Nate’s Jams. She tries to swallow but it fells like swallowing glass.</p><p>Some days she thinks about going back down into the vault and waiting for the next apocalypse. But mostly she wishes for her husband back. “But that’s my own weakness,” she says, “I would never want you to see this.”</p><p>Chouko hits play and takes aim.</p><p><em>Head like a hole, black as your soul</em>.</p><p>Ghouls crumple across the square. She leans forward, sweeping her long hair back over her shoulder. There isn't an elastic hair tie that survived the end of the world and she hasn’t been willing to use any of the disgusting fabrics she found as a ribbon yet, so it hangs free and routinely blows right into her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>I’d rather die than give you control. </em>
</p><p>She puts a bullet in head after head, watching each body fall with grim satisfaction.</p><p>~~~</p><p>A few blocks away Paladin Danse pauses between shots and glanced up the street. Distant gunfire wasn’t uncommon in Cambridge, but a steady baseline was. The ghouls crawling out of the rubble up the street don't even notice him, but race past, intent on the source of the sounds. Music, Danse realizes suddenly, the words resolving as he focuses.</p><p><em>Bow down before the one you serve</em>.</p><p>“Haylen,” he calls back to the scribe. “How is your ammo?”</p><p>Rhys has passed out again and Haylen crouches beside him, her sidearm in one hand, her other on the Knight’s chest.</p><p>
  <em>You’re going to get what you deserve.</em>
</p><p>“I’m set. But sir, we need to get inside.”</p><p>“They’ll break through and we’ll loose the doors. There isn’t room to maneuver inside. We need to deal with this threat in the open.”</p><p>The ghouls continue passing the police station and he thinks this is the best chance he's going to get.</p><p>“I’ll hold position!” Haylen called.</p><p>~~~</p><p>The clanking catches her attention, and Chouko spins because the ghouls are manageable, but raiders won't be while she's exposed in the middle of the square. Instead of the typical leather and spikes there's a full suit of power armor—well almost. The man's missing the helmet, but he has the cap on.  Some battered insignia shows on the chestpiece and her finger tenses on the trigger as she aims for his face. </p><p>He's handsome, too damn handsome for the end of the world, and part of Chouko wants to blast away his handsome face because it doesn't belong in this cesspool.</p><p>“Hold it, tin man,” she shouts over the music, “don’t come any closer.”</p><p>The ghouls are still focused on her, clawing at the walls of the newsstand. Groaning and hissing on every side like souls in the Stygian marsh.</p><p>The man in her scope looks shocked, but she knows better than to trust anyone’s expressions here. </p><p>“Did you kill all those ghouls yourself?” He has a deep, commanding voice and it carries across the square.</p><p>Not your typical raider, she thinks as she tries to balance the need to keep her finger on the trigger with the worry about shooting some unsuspecting rube in the face. She settles on being to the point. “Who are you, and what do you want?”</p><p>“Our distress signal—did you—“ In the face of her blank stare, he changes directions. “Civilian, I need assistance.”</p><p>“You and everyone else in this wretched hellscape,” Chouko says.</p><p>The ghouls make their horrible sounds all around her and she can't take it. She swerves away from the man, who keep pointing his laser rifle at the ghouls, to shoot the creatures trying to reach her and tear her limbs off. She puts down all the ones in grasping range while trying to keep her breathing even. Yet another request for help—she wonders if he was out of fusion cells.</p><p>“Fine. Come get in this newsstand, there’s only one door and I can cover it.”</p><p>She hopes she's not making a mistake. Wondering if maybe she should just put him down and take his power armor. It would be so much easier to face these abominations from inside a cocoon of steel. She blew through the couple half-used fusions cores she found so damn fast and Preston had worked to convince her she didn’t need to go everywhere in the suit.  </p><p>He shakes his head. “I have wounded and my position is about to be overrun. I need another gun.”</p><p>She stares at him, at the impudence of it. There’s desperation there, behind the strong voice, and something about this idiot keeps her from just shooting him. The song's changed and she can’t tell if fate is warning her or mocking her.</p><p>
  <em>Johnny’s an American. I’m afraid of Americans.</em>
</p><p> He took a few shots at ghouls that noticed him before returning his attention to her. “Please.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m afraid of the world.</em>
</p><p>Chouko takes another couple shots and sighs. <em>It’s always something, </em>she thinks. <em>How do I let myself get suckered into these hopeless situations? I don’t have time to find everyone’s lost cat. But this asshole has a full suit of functional T-60 power armor and a laser rifle. Maybe there’s more where those came from</em>.</p><p>
  <em>God is an American.</em>
</p><p>She ejects her clip and loads a new one, letting the familiar movements center her. “How far to your base?”</p><p>“Two blocks,” the man calls, his posture tense but with an edge of excitement in his voice.</p><p>She doesn’t know whether or not to be more nervous about that. Chouko turns off Nate’s music and throws her empty clips in her rucksack, jamming the full ones back into her leg holsters. The bag would be heavy for a normal person, but she’s not that weak, thankfully, and she picks it up along with the dog, who whines with something between annoyance and fear. It’s the only sensible person she’s met so far.</p><p>“I’ll cover you,” the man shouts, walking further into the square and blasting away with the laser rifle. “For the Brotherhood!”</p><p>Chouko sighs as the ghouls turn towards the noise. <em>Thank god these ghouls die easy. I hope I don’t have to kill this fool next</em>. The man is as good as his word, mowing down ghouls as she leaps to the concrete below and runs towards him, too nervous about the open space to put the dog down.</p><p>Up close the man’s even taller than she expected, looming in his power armor. His chiseled jawline makes her want to punch him for some bizarre reason, so she focuses on her rifle and the street ahead. “Alright tin man, let’s go.”</p><p>Danse doesn’t know what to make of the woman. Her accent is pronounced, she sounds just like an old holotape, and Danse wonders if she’s one of those pretentious people who decided to give themselves a pre-War accent. She’s taller than most women in the wasteland and looks well-fed—like a successful merc but with fewer scars. She has more hair than he’s ever seen, a cascade of dark locks flowing over one shoulder. Dark brown eyes peer at him over a pair of aviators and seem to look straight through him. He has a hard time believing the blue visible beneath her sheepskin aviator’s jacket and armor is a vault suit, but he’s never seen that color anywhere else. There’s a 10mm strapped to her right thigh, spare clips strapped to the other, and, as she passes him, he spots a large knife hanging from her belt beside her canteen. The pack and strapped on shotgun speak to someone who is seriously prepared for the hazards of the wasteland, but the hair is so impractical it almost makes him reconsider his request for her help.</p><p>Guilt churns away inside Danse as he follows the woman. It was his decisions that brought them to this point: half his squad dead and begging a civilian for a rescue.</p><p>They hurry down the street towards the police station, shooting ghouls that lurch out of the rubble towards them. They pass the barriers just in time. Haylen is still tending to Rhys while also trying to shoot a ghoul crawling towards her. The woman takes it out with a single shot and without breaking stride.</p><p>“You stay down here, centered,” she barks at him as she goes for the barricade stairs, dropping the dog. It dances at her heels as she leaps up onto the metal railing. The move is stunningly reckless, but gives her a better vantage point as she begins unloading her clip.  A moment later Danse sees why as the ghouls swarm through the entrance. He does his best, keeping up the fire, sweeping side to side, but slowly he’s pushed back by the mass of them, by the fear that they’ll rush past him and straight towards Haylen and Rhys.</p><p>The gunshots pause for a moment, the woman switching clips.</p><p>And then the dog yelps.</p><p>Danse hadn’t even seen it come down the stairs to worry the ghouls at his flank, keeping between the creatures and Haylen. Now it’s trying to run for cover and they’re striking it. There’s an incoherent scream of rage from above.</p><p>The woman leaps from the barricade, landing heavily on one ghoul, and shooting the head off a second as she rolls up from a crouch. The ghoul she landed on has popped, viscera leaking from its bloated stomach.</p><p>“Get behind me, you idiot!” she yells.</p><p>For a moment, Danse thinks it’s directed at him, but the dog limps behind her while she unloads the pistol and reloads.</p><p>“I told you not to do that. You don’t need to show off to me.”</p><p>The dog whines, as if it understands her, as if it’s protesting. Danse has other things to worry about than a woman who talks to her dog, and he focuses on them.</p><p>It’s only a few minutes, but every second seems impossibly long as the ghouls rush towards them, their limbs flailing and their ruined mouths gaping. Chouko shoots most of them, emptying each clip she has to hand, desperately praying that the bodies will run out before the bullets do. It finally seems like they’re safe and she turns, sweeping the area around them. The tin man behind her is splattered in congealed blood, holding a smoking laser rifle, and grinning at her like his team just won the Super Bowl. It’s almost endearing. The smile falls off his face suddenly. Chouko whips around, pulling her rifle forward, even though it’s empty.</p><p>“Behind you!”</p><p>The shout is incorrect even as it’s voiced, Chouko is already facing the green, festering flesh. Her stomach twists and rage bubbles through her. Laser blasts fly at the creature, but she’s between it and the rifle and thankfully the man hasn’t shot her yet.</p><p>So Chouko does the only thing left, grasping her rifle and lunging forward at the monstrosity. She thrusts the rifle butt forward with all the pitiful strength she has left, and its rotten flesh tears. The ghoul’s head flies off and the body collapses beside her.</p><p>“Outstanding,” the man behind her breathes.</p><p>Panting and gory, they take in the carnage.</p><p>Once she’s satisfied that there are no more ghouls coming, she drops to her knees and pulls the dog to her. Chouko can hardly bear to let the animal out of her sight, but at moments like this she hates herself for her weakness, in not trusting Sturges and Preston to watch him, in not trusting him to take care of himself, and in needing something familiar around, no matter how irresponsible it is bringing such a young one into danger like this.</p><p>Danse can hardly believe it when she uses a stimpack on the animal. Half a real stimpack goes into the dog as it whimpers in her arms and tries to lick her chin.</p><p>“Next time we go back,” she tells it sternly, “you’re staying with Sturges. It’s too dangerous out here.”  Then she sighs and ruffles the animal’s fur.</p><p>It makes noises as her and she clucks her tongue back at it.</p><p>“It’s a handsome animal,” Danse says, wondering if it came out of a vault. Most dogs are mutated beats or raider mutts. Very few people have any dogs in as good a condition as this one, and they cost almost as much as female brahmin.  </p><p>“There,” she says to the dog, holding its face in her hands. “He’s called you handsome, is that enough praise you egotistical little monster?”</p><p>The dog licks her face and wags its tail. The woman groans and gets to her feet, wiping the slobber away face with the back of her arm.</p><p>The paladin isn’t exactly sure what to do now, what to do with her. The intense gaze focused on him makes him almost uncomfortable. She pushes the sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, sparing him from the evaluation.</p><p>He clears his throat. “The way you took out those ghouls—the precision.” He shakes his head. It takes a Brotherhood Knight years of training to gain that level of skill. He wonders how a mercenary got so skilled with so few scars. She doesn’t carry herself like a merc either. “Are you from a local settlement?”</p><p>Her mouth presses into a thin line momentarily and she tilts her head to the side, considering. After a moment she tells him, “I escaped Vault 111.”</p><p>“You’re a Vault dweller?” he says without thinking. So it is a Vault suit. In which case, her accent is authentic, preserved down in one of those experimental prisons for 200 years. “Most people wouldn’t admit such a thing.” It puts a target on their back and makes the rest of the vault vulnerable.</p><p>“Really?” she says like she doesn’t completely believe him.</p><p>If she doesn’t know that much yet, then she probably hasn’t been out long.  Danse shakes his head. It’s a miracle that she’s made it this far. However, given her weapons skills, it might be her vault has expansionary tendencies. He should find out, if possible, it might tip the dynamics in this region, if he can stabilize their position long enough to do anything of use.</p><p>“I appreciate your honesty. If I appear suspicious, it’s because our mission here has been difficult.”</p><p>Chouko nods towards the police station, forcing Danse’s attention back to Haylen and Rhys, who seems to have regained consciousness. “Is that building secure? If so, let’s continue the conversation inside before your buddy exsanguinates.”</p><p>Rhys pushes himself up slightly and glares. “Hey, what’d she say about me? You’d better watch it, Wastelander.”</p><p>“Charming,” she mutters before clicking her tongue for the dog to follow.</p><p>Danse finds himself trailing after her.</p><p>“I’ll take his shoulders, you get the feet,” she’s saying to Halyen as Danse approaches. “Cover us, tin man.”</p><p>Rhys makes several unkind remarks as this strange vault-dweller hoists him up. Danse holds the doors open for her and Haylen. She’s as efficient with a pair of scissors and bandages as she is with a gun, playing backup to Haylen as the scribe does her best to patch Rhys up. She even volunteers the rest of the dog’s stimpack.</p><p>Danse interrupts before Rhys can really offend her.</p><p>“If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.”</p><p>She looks up like she’s forgotten he was there. And smiles. It’s like looking down the barrel of a gun. Danse finds the world dissolving at the edges and he can’t look away. She puts a hand on Haylen’s shoulder, leaving Rhys to the other woman and comes towards him.</p><p> “You can call me Chouko,” she says, extending a hand.</p><p>He takes it carefully in his. For the first time in two months, he feels something other than grim determination and despair. “Danse.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. January 2288 Pickman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re going to tell me you own a better example of early Pissarro.”</p><p>Her breath catches, halfway to forming a comment, and then comes out as a short, sharp laugh. One of the other museum patrons crowding in on her right shoots them a disapproving look. The patrons of Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts aren’t the stodgiest she’s ever met, but her and Nate’s commentary has been starting to grate on those around them.</p><p>Nate senses her sudden embarrassment and adds his laugh to hers, elbowing her through her thick wool coat.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“I was just going to say that I didn’t much care for Neo-Impressionism when it was new either.”</p><p>His laughter cracks the quiet murmur of the room and now people really are glaring at them. She loops an arm through Nate’s and pulls him away before he starts trying to get an outside opinion. He’d done that in the modern art wing and gotten them asked to move along by one of the docents.</p><p>Nate veers them off course, into a small side room hung with some underappreciated Danes, and wraps an arm around her waist.</p><p>“Nora, Nora, what am I going to do with you?”</p><p>She’d told him. The world was on the brink of the most catastrophic war imaginable, an extinction level event. After some of the things he’d seen her do, he’d asked awkward questions. So she’d thrown caution to the wind and told him.</p><p> “Nothing to do. You’re stuck with me now, Major Howard.” The gold band weighs on her finger every waking moment. When she’s not in heavy winter gloves, the light shines off it. How long before he regrets putting it there?</p><p>
  <em>I fell into a burning ring of fire.</em>
</p><p>“I hope you’re not regretting running away with me, Mrs. Howard,” he says with a smile on his lips, but a question hangs in the air.    </p><p>He’d asked her.</p><p>She’d said yes.</p><p>Even a year later, he still has these moments where he has trouble believing she meant it.</p><p>She turns and rises on her toes so they’re at eye level, catching the front of his coat to steady herself. “Not for an instant!”</p><p>Nate grins, eyes lighting up his whole face. His warm hands cup her face and he kisses her. Nora’s hands clutch the front of his coat. For a moment, she feels the icy wind of Alaska again.</p><p>A cough sounds behind them and reluctantly Nate releases her. Nora settles down on her heels again.</p><p>Nora Howard.</p><p>A new name for a new life.</p><p>~~~</p><p>The calling card said Pickman’s Gallery, but it isn’t a gallery in the pre-War sense.</p><p>The North End has changed a lot over time, and for Chouko it isn’t just since the bombs fell. A remarkable number of buildings are still standing and look fairly intact for going two hundred years without a roofer. But then these brick piles were over two hundred years old the last time she saw them—if anything was built to last, it’s these.</p><p>The dead raiders littering the walkway confirm the location, and Piper clenches her gun. Chouko wasn’t expecting much when she decided to let the reporter tag along and has been both pleasantly and unpleasantly surprised so far. Piper’s a good shot and not afraid of a fight—but the questions, oh gods, the questions won’t end. </p><p>Chouko eases open the door and recoils as the smell hits her: blood and offal with the musty sweetness of putrefaction cloying at her. Her stomach turns and she fights the urge to bolt from this predator’s den.</p><p>They duck through the doorway and crouch in the shadows, listening to some sort of raid happening in the rest of the building. It seems they’re not the only ones who’ve decided to investigate the taunting notes.</p><p>Flickering light draws them through the doorway to their left, and Piper gasps. Chouko’s hand falls from her nose, and she stands up, transfixed.</p><p>“Blue, I don’t care that Hancock asked us to do this. That ghoul’s a creep and this place is a horror show!”</p><p>The pile of dismembered corpses in the room doesn’t really phase either of them; it’s typical raider decoration. The paintings on the walls are a totally different matter.</p><p>Chouko rubs her chin and looks from one painting to the next. “You’ve got to admit, he’s got a distinctive style.”</p><p>Piper grabs at her arm, nervousness radiating from every movement. “I can’t believe you’re critiquing this! This isn’t art!”</p><p>“Debatable. The point of modern art is to challenge the sensibilities and I certainly feel challenged.” The part of her that’s a little mad thinks that this is just what art is now, as degenerate as the rest of the world. It’s an accurate reflection, so the sane part of her that smells cerebral fluid should just shut up.</p><p>“I—what are you even—Blue—”</p><p>The stairs creak and both women turn, raising their guns. Chouko lets the subject drop as they work their way through the rest of the warren-like rooms. Piper can’t help a gasp or a stifled curse now and again as they encounter another of Pickman’s pieces.</p><p>When they finally encounter the man himself, he’s nothing like Chouko expected: well dressed, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, and only wielding a knife. Piper wants to watch it all play out, but Chouko drops the raiders without a second thought.</p><p>Pickman looks up, and their eyes meet.</p><p>“Thanks for the assist, Killer.”</p><p>Chouko knows.</p><p>She knows just by looking at him, and she can’t help a grin. He seems to realize too, as she jumps down to the cavern floor with Piper shouting at her to stop, to not go near a madman. Chouko thrusts her hand out at the man, feeling a bizarre mixture of disgust and what might oddly enough be joy. Finally, someone she can talk to who isn’t either a raider or a dog.</p><p>“Mr. Pickman, I am a big fan of your work. It really captures the zeitgeist.”</p><p>“Aunty, it’s an honor,” he says, taking her hand delicately. He shakes like he learned it pre-War. There’s faint amusement in his eyes. He may not know her, but he knows enough to recognize what he’s dealing with.</p><p>Piper lands behind them, still talking. “Blue, come on, this guy is crazy. Let’s get out of here!”</p><p>Chouko turns. Of all the things to set Piper off, it’s sort of surprising that this is it. It makes Chouko feel very old and very out of place.</p><p>“Piper, this whole world is crazy. Half the city is decorated with decapitated bodies.” She turns back to the purported man. If he’d been engaged in the same hobby pre-War, he would have been one of the ones she despised, the ones ruining it for the rest of them.  But when everything was already ruined, might as well admire a master in their craft. “You know, I was really struck by the one with the hands—“</p><p>Piper refuses to speak to her for the entire walk back to Goodneighbor. Chouko is tempted to say something snide, but she likes the girl well enough and pushing won’t actually be productive. Even in this fetid cesspool, people have their limits, their self-respect. Chouko admires them for it, is pleased the human spirit has survived yet another societal collapse. It gives her hope for a bright future. Maybe in a couple hundred more years they’ll have air conditioning again and the moon base she’s been waiting for.</p><p>They reach the old statehouse and make the climb up to Hancock’s den. The ghoul lounges along the ratty old couch in the middle of the room. Smoke swirls around him. He eyes them both over the end of a cigar and Chouko thinks—not for the first time—that if the man still had a nose, she would have done something about the way he looks at her by now.</p><p>“Ladies,” he says in that charmingly gruff voice.</p><p>Chouko can’t help a smile. “Checked out that place for you, Pickman’s.” Beside her, Piper tenses. “Full of gore. The guy is a serial killer of raiders. Also a painter. Pack of raiders were there trying to off him when we walked in, so we took care of them.”</p><p>“Yeesh,” Hancock sits up and reaches for a bag of caps on the table. “Well, that’s good to know. I’ll warn my people about ‘im.” He gets up and stretches, then tosses the caps to Chouko. “What’s a’matter Piper, too much for ya to stomach?”</p><p>Piper shoots a sidelong glance at Chouko, who pretends nothing’s wrong. “You didn’t see his “art”, Hancock.”</p><p>Chouko, smiles, wanting to push a little here and see what happens. “Oh, that’s reminds me!” She turns to her bag, dropped by the doors, and her newest acquisition. Piper cringes and Hancock nearly drops his cigar as Chouko turns to face them. “What do you think? It’s very postmodern.”</p><p>“Christ,” Hancock wipes at his brow, “is that painted with blood?!”</p><p>Piper sniffs. “Not just blood. She paid him 300 caps for it.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?!”</p><p>The shock is worth any blowback, Chouko thinks. And maybe they won’t view her as such a push over do-gooder after this. In the corner, Fahrennheit leans forward, trying to get a glimpse. Chouko flashes the picture at the redhead and is rewarded with a perplexed and disgusted look.</p><p>“And then,” Piper says, “they had a debate about the real meaning of nihilism.”</p><p>Hancock takes a long pull on his cigar and squints at Chouko as if he can really see her. “Sister, you sure are something else.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>She thinks in song lyrics a lot, so they crop up, sometimes seemingly randomly. Hopefully it fits the flow and isn't distracting.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. February 2288</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chouko hates Diamond City.</p><p>She hates seeing the pretentious fools living atop Nate’s seats, the ones he and his brother had split season tickets for since they’d first pooled their money in college. She hates seeing corn growing in the outfield, hates smelling the sad monstrosities these idiots call Brahmin. She hates the hydroponics bays in left field, humming and leaking water at all hours. She hates the old man who has no idea how baseball was actually played but insists on shouting about it. </p><p>She <em>really</em>hates the perky secretary who keeps telling her she’s on the detective’s list, once he’s finished whatever case he’s currently working. She still hasn’t met the man, so she hasn’t decided whether or not to hate him too.</p><p>And Chouko hates the aggressively unfriendly people, but at least that is the same as it was pre-War.</p><p>She should have taken Nate with her, dealt with the fallout, fought harder for him. Not run and hid out here. But nothing she thinks now will bring him back from that frozen tomb.</p><p> Piper handles her hatred with bemused interest, pointing out things and noting her reaction in the ubiquitous notebook. Chouko thinks there might be a bit of revenge for Pickman’s Gallery involved when Piper suggests they go to see the school. Chouko is certain the reporter doesn’t mean it maliciously, doesn’t realize just what a punch to the gut it is to see the room jam packed with children of all ages. Chouko forces a smile and greets the teacher.</p><p>Older children read on their own or watch over younger ones. A cluster of kids about the same age all sit off to one side, trying to work through some math problems together. And Nat looks up and grins at them. Fresh pain sears through Chouko and she presses a hand to her stomach; it still feels so recent.</p><p>As far as she’s concerned, she was pregnant five months ago.</p><p>Piper notices and her eyes widen. Chouko turns away quickly, before Piper can say anything or do anything to make it all worse. Instead, she asks the children what they want to know about the world beyond their walls.   </p><p>“Hey Blue,” Piper says as they walk through the muddy alleys, coats turned up against the drizzle. “I’m sorry if that was rough, I wasn’t thinking.”</p><p>Chouko shrugs. She’s always been good at hiding her true feelings, finding it a necessary part of surviving this long. “It’s alright. I’m glad to see there’s some attempt at a school. Though I see public education hasn’t improved much in the past two centuries.”</p><p>Piper chuckles and elbows her lightly. “Hey, you want to get out of here and find some bad guys to mess up?”</p><p>“There was a time when I would have said picking a fight with people with a lot of guns was a terrible idea,” Chouko says lightly. “But I’m always up for popping a few super mutant skulls.”</p><p>“Alright! As long as there are no more art galleries.”</p><p>“No more galleries,” Chouko agrees with a smile. </p><p>~~~</p><p>She takes Piper out to Sanctuary, finally, after a week of wandering the ruins and deflecting uncomfortable questions. They get back out again as soon as Chouko can. She can’t help being drawn back there, wandering the streets, standing in the ruins of her old house, staring at the ashes of a short-lived life.</p><p>Preston is always happy to see her, always has updates and news to share, and always gently but firmly, nudges her back out into the wasteland when she starts staring for too long. He understands; his grief is fresh too. </p><p>“When the moon hits you eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore!” Chouko sings as they pass the old drive-in she’s using as a safe house. One of her safe houses. The turrets hum merrily from atop the screen and the concessions stand.</p><p>“When the world seems to shine like you’ve had too much wine, that’s amore!” Piper sings back.</p><p>Piper lets Chouko get through a few more lines, nodding along before joining in for another: ”That’s amore!”</p><p>They both giggle, hardly braking step as Chouko pulls up her rifle and drops a bloatfly. They’re making enough noise to bring bugs and ghouls running, but Chouko and the steadily increasing Minuteman patrols have finally thinned out enough of the resident threats that few things respond to their singing.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but Travis plays the same ten songs over and over again. We need to do something about it.”</p><p>“You could listen to some Holst, you philistine,” Chouko laughs.</p><p>“Yeah, you’re going to find that that classical station doesn’t have many fans. I’m not sure who’s running it though. No one’s ever heard the DJ.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s pre-War and automated?” Chouko says. She keeps humming as they continue on.</p><p>“You must know all the pre-War dances too,” Piper says, interrupting Chouko’s train of thought. “Half the songs mention them, but nobody has any idea what they looked like."</p><p>Chouko grabs Piper and spins her, and sings, “Take some advice <em>paesano</em>, learn how to mambo.”</p><p>It’s been two hundred and eleven years since she’s gone dancing and she feels the ache of the loss in every muscle and in her slightly faulty movements.</p><p>“You are the weirdest person I know,” Piper laughs as they dance on the ruins of the world.</p><p>“If you want to meet some really weird people, have I got the crew for you,” Chouko says so that she can stop thinking about dancing.</p><p>~~~</p><p>They have to shoot their way through Harvard Square, again, but there are fewer ghouls than the first few times Chouko came this way through Cambridge.</p><p>“You know, most people just walk really quietly,” Piper says as the last one drops.</p><p>“Most people are not as community service minded as I am.”</p><p>The police station courtyard is clear of bodies, but there are fresh burns on the dirt and the barricades. Chouko knocks before opening the front door and proceeding Piper up the stairs. “I’ve got water, some tatoes and corn,” she calls as her eyes adjust to the dim interior.</p><p>Knight Rhys sits at a long table, various metallic odds and ends scattered around him, a filthy cloth in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. He looks up and rolls his eyes.</p><p>“But not meat. You never bring anything decent.”</p><p>Piper reaches the top of the stairs and looks him over critically, her hands on hips. “So this one must be Rhys. I see what you meant.”</p><p>Rhys flushes red and glares at them both. “What is that supposed to mean, Wastelander?”</p><p>Haylen comes out from behind the station counter, putting down a clipboard and grinning. “Chouko! Good to see you! Who’s this?”</p><p>Chouko drops the extra pack and smiles at the one friendly reception she was expecting. “Erica, this is Piper Wright from Diamond City. She’s their reporter.”</p><p>Piper grabs Haylen’s hand and shakes, apparently deciding to pretend that Rhys doesn’t exist, which is Chouko’s preferred approach as well. Chouko glances around and spots Danse at last, standing in the doorway to his office. There may have been a ghost of a smile on his lips, but it’s his normal, serious expression that greets her as he comes into the room.</p><p>As always, the man is in full power armor, clanking and towering over her. His hair is a mess and he still has stubble, but he looks less hopeless each time she sees him, which is reassuring.</p><p>“It’s good to see you again. I thought you had forgotten about us.”</p><p>She likes that he’s difficult to read and that he is weirdly respectful of her. He’s just about the only person in the Wasteland aside from Jack Cabot with any formality, though the paladin’s comes from nervousness, not good breeding.</p><p>“You know I’d never do that,” she says with a smile and a flutter of lashes, not because she means it, but because she feels she needs the practice, needs to do it to remember feeling anything other than anger and despair. But the Wasteland is no place for flirting, and the paladin isn’t a man to respond to it, so she shifts to serious. “I still don’t like this location. Yes, you’re close to the city, but no matter how many times we clear the square, ferals keep crawling out of the ruins into it.”</p><p>“I understand your—”</p><p>“Hey, Blue,” Piper says, grabbing Chouko’s arm before Danse can finish. “What was that song you were signing as we came into town? She says they’ve got different ones in the Capital Wasteland. Maybe we can get them to send us a copy!”</p><p>Piper can barely hide her amusement. The reporter can’t resist using Chouko as her own walking pre-War party-trick. Sing this song. Tell me the name of those buildings. What are these weird shaped things for? Normally she’s happy to oblige, but given the company, Chouko demurs.</p><p>It’s too late. Haylen jumps on this information.</p><p>“You sing?” the scribe demands.</p><p>“Poorly,” Chouko says, waiting for some quip from Rhys, but the Knight merely watches her with narrowed eyes.</p><p>“Uh Blue, you’ve got a great voice. I know it probably doesn’t stack up to all those Pre-War bands, but you take what you can get in the wasteland.”</p><p>“Come on,” Haylen says, “don’t leave me hanging, what was it?”</p><p>“My lady loves to dance,” Chouko says flatly, torn between irritation and amusement. The two women stare at her as if she’s speaking Chinese so she clears her throat and gives in.</p><p>“<em>My lady loves to dance. My lady loves to sing. My lady has the sparkle of a diamond ring. When purple shadows fall and silver moonlight beams, my lady loves to dance in my dreams.</em>”</p><p>Haylen’s eyes twinkle but she does her best to repress a smile. “I don’t recognize it. Maybe a few more bars would help?”</p><p>Chouko snorts. “I’m not the radio.”</p><p>“She gets shy,” Piper stage whispers to the scribe.</p><p>Chouko throws her hands in the air and gives up on the two of them. There’s no explaining the pain each song brings her, the flood of memories of dance halls and concerts and just lounging around with the radio on, her feet in Nate’s lap, and a cocktail in her hand. There’s no way to convey the almost physical pain she feels when she thinks of the rotten wood and rusted parts that are all that remain of her instruments. She sings without thinking, and then she thinks.</p><p>Danse smiles when Chouko turns back to him, and that throws her off. It’s deeply unsettling for a reason she can’t place and doesn’t want to think about. She hasn’t actually wanted to hit him since the day she met him, but sometimes the sight of him still makes her irrationally angry. And yet she keeps going back to check in on him.</p><p>“You know the offer is still open; you could join us.”</p><p>She feels another uncomfortable pang.</p><p>He keeps asking, and she keeps saying no. Anyone else would have given up by now. It reeks of desperation, but he never seems desperate when he says it. Instead, he seems to think it would be good for her. And someone from this wretched hellscape trying to do what’s best for her—that doesn’t compute.</p><p>“Paladin, I have a child to find and a husband to avenge. I’m not making that mission second to anything.”</p><p>He nods an acknowledgement, like he always does, and it’s not long before they take their leave.</p><p>Chouko and Piper wave goodbye while the paladin walks to the top of the stairs to watch them go. He hates this moment, when she walks back out into the dangers, and tries to take comfort in the fact she finally has a human companion with her instead of that dog she babies. Still, he’d feel better if she said yes. Danse needs the extra help, it's true, but the woman needs a support structure and the Brotherhood could give it to her. She’s smart, competent, and bit by bit she’s becoming bitter and disheartened.</p><p>The wasteland is breaking her.</p><p>His failures led to the loss of his knights and almost cost the lives of Rhys and Haylen, but in this woman running around calling herself a general, he sees a chance to help someone again.  And maybe a shot at just a little bit of redemption.</p><p> Haylen joins him, and elbows him in the side, which is ineffective in his power armor. Danse doesn’t understand his scribe’s expression as she glances up at him. It’s not mission related, so he decides not to worry about it.</p><p>Rhys drops his screwdriver and scowls. “I don’t understand why she keeps coming back, if she’s going to turn you down each time. I don’t like it.”</p><p>“We should be pleased to have a positive relationship with the leader of a local settlement.” Danse picks up the bag of vegetables and wonders how she manages to carry such heavy packs. “It may seem silly to us that they call her the General, but the Commonwealth is strange enough.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. April 2088 Kellog</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The descent begins on the roof, oddly, or fittingly, enough. Chouko knows Shaun isn’t in the repurposed fort, and yet like Orpheus, she prepares to descend into the darkness and danger in search of the person who was taken from her.</p><p>Kellog’s taunts chase her through the decrepit halls, but the man clearly hasn’t done his homework on her. Nobody in this godsforsaken pit has any clue who Nora Howard was, let alone who <em>she </em>was before she was Nora. It’s for the best really.</p><p>Nick trails her, watching her back, hands occasionally twitching as the building creaks and groans around them.</p><p>The synths go down, one by one, toy soldiers knocked over. It reminds her of the ancient clockwork toys, tip them on their sides and their feet would keep kicking, futile without someone in control, someone to direct them.   </p><p>She takes the time Kellog spends monologuing to hunker against the doorframe, fitting a mininuke into a fat man. Nick had thought her insane for strapping the massive thing to her back before they set out, but as she whirls up and the words die in Kellog’s smart mouth, Chouko thinks that at least he’ll feel a hint of what she’s feeling before his worthless life ends.</p><p>He’s faster than a human in later middle age should be. Chouko isn’t exactly surprised given what she’s seen so far, but having him firing at her with one functional arm, apparently able to fight through the pain of the burns covering half his body is annoying. She expresses her annoyance by unloading an entire clip into him.</p><p>She’s never enjoyed killing, never sought it out, but times like these, she does derive a grim satisfaction from it. It feels like she’s putting the world right, the way she thinks it should be, one bullet at a time. Chouko chose this world, all that time ago. She believed in it, and it veered so horribly off course. It’s all she has left, so she has to make it something she can believe in again. </p><p>Nick stands aghast as Chouko drops the rifle and takes out a knife. He’d known she could be a cold-blooded killer, he’d seen plenty when she was breaking him out of Vault 114. Seeing her acting from a place of real anger is so much worse.</p><p>“Kid, what’dya think you’re doing?” He reaches for her but she’s too far away and despite the fact that he doesn’t have muscles, or a heart, he’s rooted to the spot by apprehension.</p><p>There’s something wrong in the room, something he feels deep in his chest, and he has no idea what it is. It feels like walking down certain streets in the oldest parts of Boston at night, back pre-War, where the hairs would stand up along the back of his neck and he’d feel something behind him. The animal part of his brain would say <em>don’t look back, walk faster</em>. But the feeling is all around him now.</p><p>And it’s concentrated on her. </p><p>She glances back at him and for a moment something about her looks different, like a shadow flits across her face, distorting her features. Whatever is left of Old Nick’s animal instincts says <em>Run</em>.</p><p>“Nick, I see metal. Do you think he could be a synth?”</p><p>Nick turns away, covering his mouth.</p><p>After a series of squelching and cracking sounds, Chouko comes up to him, her vault suit and combat armor bloodied, a dripping knife in one hand, something dangling from the other.</p><p>“That bastard was a cyborg. And I think I’ve got his memory bank.”</p><p>“Just don’t ask me to carry it,” Nick chokes out. The animal terror slowly bleeds away, leaving metal and plastic limbs trembling. He’d like to blame his servos, but he’s never felt anything quite like this in all of his synthetic existence.</p><p>The woman before him has gone contemplative, but he can still feel how tightly wound she is. Anything might set her off, and he’d really hate to see her use that knife on something still breathing.</p><p>They trudge to the roof. Chouko’s mind is in a million places, thinking about cybernetics, snyths, and the fragility of time. She remembers when there was a lot more harbor to Boston. She remembers the first railroads, the sudden occurrence of automobiles, and how they blanketed the world. For those last few decades, she’d been so focused on weapons, and so unaffected by human medicine, that she didn’t know what strides they’d made.</p><p>How long had Kellog had her son? And what did the Institute want with a pre-War child? She’d combed all of Piper’s records and stories about disappearances and strange occurrences related to the Institute and couldn’t find a pattern other than that they were seeking technology and influence. But if it had been tech they’d been after, why hadn’t they taken her? None of this made sense.</p><p>The cold night air hits them, a blast of irradiated relief after the close, oily air of the base. With it comes a deep, mechanical rumble.</p><p>Nick grabs for Chouko, and she catches his hand. The cold metal presses against her skin as they both stare up at the zeppelin cruising out of an adventure novel and into the wasteland.</p><p>“<strong>People of the Commonwealth, do not interfere. Our intentions are peaceful. We are the Brotherhood of Steel</strong>.”</p><p>Chouko shifts without realizing it, between the snyth and the airship, as if she can shield him from them. She’s gotten attached again, despite herself.</p><p>Behind her, Nick murmurs, “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing. . . . “</p><p>“Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” The words slip out and then the fist around her heart clenches again. A plastic hand lands on her shoulder and she places hers over it, thankful for the gesture, for the companionship. Nick might be the only person in the Commonwealth who really understands what it’s like to wake up out of time and find an unrecognizable hellscape waiting.</p><p>“Flying that ship into the heart of the Commonwealth, mark my words, the Brotherhood is here to start a war.”</p><p>As the airship disappears into the distance, Chouko turns to Nick. “I didn’t take you for the poetry type.”</p><p>“Oh c’mon, everybody knows <span class="u">The Raven</span>.”</p><p>Things like this, the little references, the casual shrug of a shoulder as he lights a cigarette, make her glad to have him along. The comfort comes at a cost. She’d shown too much of herself on this little adventure. The way Nick looked at her as she drew her knife told her he’d seen her for what she was, at least momentarily. He hasn’t fled into the night yet, so perhaps the slip was worth it.</p><p>She wouldn't be so fond of him if he were the pitchforks and witch burning type, but only time will tell. </p><p>“You, me, and Jack Cabot know <span class="u">The Raven</span>, Nick. And that’s probably it.”</p><p>Nick takes a long draw and stares off into the sky. “It’s a shame. Cabot—the name’s familiar. Pre-War, one of the old-money Boston families up in Beacon Hill was named Cabot. Same family?</p><p>“Yes, it’s the same family. Same guy even. He looks good for four hundred and five.”</p><p>Nick scoffs and flicks ash in a careless gesture that is so human it’s hard to believe metal and plastic can make it.  “I find <em>that </em>hard to believe.”</p><p>“There’s more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio.”</p><p>Nick tucks Chouko’s arm around his. “<em>Ha</em>. Fair’s fair I guess. Let’s get out of here before any flying super mutants decide to join the party.”</p><p>~~~</p><p>She stands outside, bundled in a heavy coat, hat pulled low. The wind whips her hair around her face and stings any exposed skin with ice skimmed off the frozen ground. She flicks her lighter over and over, trying to light the cigarette cupped in her hands, but the flame never lasts long enough to take. She could pause the wind around her, but the last hundred years have made her wary of doing anything remotely close to a human. The reaction these days is more likely to be along the lines of accusatory than adulation. </p><p>There’s a shift in the air and the wind drops slightly as a man steps up to her, shielding her from the worst of the wind with his bulk.</p><p>He stands far too close to her, and cups her hands with his so that the lighter sparks to life between them and catches on her cigarette. A frown pulls her mouth down as she takes a draw and feels the smoke hit her lungs. The colors of his coat and bars on his shoulder mark the stranger as an officer. A tuft of brown hair pokes out from beneath his cap and dark eyes look her over as he lifts the lighter from her hand and uses it to light his own cigarette.</p><p>“Disgusting habit, isn’t it?” He flips it closed and slides it back into her gloved hand as if they’re two soldiers on the front, huddling for the little comfort they can find, and not standing at the center of the safest outpost this side of Canada.</p><p>She can’t help feeling bemused. She takes another draw and frowns at him, one arm crossed across her chest, cupping her elbow. “Do you start all conversations with insults, or only with strangers?”</p><p>“If you didn’t think so, I suspect you’d be smoking inside with everyone else and not out here.” He makes a broad gesture, indicating the packed snow around the base and the harsh wind tearing at the flags. She notes that he’s stayed positioned to block the most wind from her.</p><p>“Maybe I like freezing my tits off.”</p><p>The officer, looking out over the base, chuckles. “No accounting for taste, I guess. Who are you here with? General Atomics? Robco?”</p><p>Gentlemanly and clever, a dangerous combination in a solider. She allows herself a moment of imagining of what’s under his bulky coat. “What makes you think I‘m a contractor?”</p><p>“The only civilians on base are either contractors or low level staff. And you don’t much look like somebody’s typist. You’ve got the look about you.” He turns back to her, evaluating. “Come to critique the dumb boys at the front on the proper use of your tech, to tell us all it worked fine in the lab so it must be our fault if the robots keep freezing solid up here.”</p><p>She’s faintly amused but also annoyed by the presumption. People don’t speak to her this way. “And isn’t it dangerous to talk to contractors like that? Why I could—“</p><p>The officer snorts and ice crystals dust the tip of his nose.</p><p>“The Chinese have stealth suits, not just stealth boys that burn out after a few minutes, but full suits, and they’re shooting at us. You won’t find the same degree of kowtowing to almighty corporate here on the front.”</p><p>“Good, I can’t stand your pompous American corporations.”</p><p>His expression shifts, brows drawing together and voice dropping. “If you’re Canadian, don’t let anyone here know—“</p><p>The annexation is less than two years old and resistance fighters have opened up a second front, diverting the war resources. His lack of hostility at the possibility she's Canadian makes him even more interesting. </p><p>“Not Canadian.” The poor fools don’t stand a chance. Not that her company has much chance either once the ICBMs are launched. They’d moved the board to Australia, unofficially of course, to be as far from the main players as possible. But in a game of mutually assured destruction even bystanders are targets.</p><p>The man ponders her, his hands stuffed in pockets and cigarette dangling from his mouth. “So you are--?”</p><p>She stares at him for a long moment. “Freezing,” she says at last.</p><p>He cracks a smile.  </p><p>“What’s your name?</p><p>“What do you think my name is?”</p><p>“Nora.”</p><p>He’s picked something basic. American pie, freckles, and pearls. Everything she's not. </p><p>His faint smile keeps her attention. “Which is Arabic for light.”</p><p><em>Nura</em>. She cracks a smile and looks up at him, cigarette dipping slightly. “Close, darling, but no cigar.”</p><p>She flicks the butt into a trashcan and turns to go inside.</p><p>“So which shop are you with?”</p><p>She sizes him up one last time over her shoulder, deciding she’d like to see more of this impertinent man. “You’ve got a presentation at 08:00 that should clear some things up. Goodnight, Major.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope the flashbacks with Nate are adding depth and context without being too jarring. I don't want to spend too much time in the Pre-War world, but I think it's really interesting to get peeks at it. </p><p>Also the implication here is that Nate chose her name, which is why she can't stand anyone else using it now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. May 2288 - Deathclaw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She hasn’t slept in days, maybe it’s been a week? Who knows anymore.</p><p>Probably not a good idea.</p><p>Everything is a little blurry at the edges. Things seem to be moving slow and then all of a sudden too fast. But she can’t stop moving.</p><p>After the Memory Den, Hancock tried—tried to get her to stay in Goodneighbor where he can keep an eye on her. She’d gone north instead, picking through the ruins for something—anything useful.</p><p>Electronics, hardware, maybe she can find a fucking functional satellite uplink.</p><p>Maybe a map.</p><p>Something.</p><p>Anything.</p><p>Chouko sighs and kicks a computer. The monitor explodes, raining glass, and the motherboard goes flying like a seatbelt-less passenger ejected from a car crash.</p><p>A scream escapes, low, guttural, and with enough force in it to rattle the debris around her, shake the dust off the crumbling walls. A hint of the power she’d once had and now has to re-earn by exhausting herself constantly.</p><p>If it takes a hundred years, she’ll do it, then she’ll strip the Commonwealth to bedrock.</p><p>Her scream keeps echoing, and somewhere in her sleep-deprived brain that registers as wrong.</p><p>Slowly, Chouko turns.</p><p>Teeth.</p><p>There are a lot of teeth, and claws. She reaches for her gun, jumps back, but deathclaws were bred to be stronger and tougher and faster than anything else human scientists could get their hands on. A heavy-clawed hand knocks her out of the air and pins her against the brick wall.</p><p>Her right arm is trapped by her side. Her assault rifle lies broken under the monster’s foot and teeth are closing in on her. Hot rage boils inside Chouko as she grabs the claws pinning her with her left hand. There isn’t much left, but she gathers her strength and squeezes. The scales buckle under her fingers and the deathclaw roars.</p><p>It drops her, but before she can roll away, its foot slams down on her left arm and its claws scrape down her chest as it tries to slice her open. Spittle drips onto her face as she pulls the claws away with her free arm.</p><p>It lunges, trying to bite her, and Chouko screams again, a piercing wave of air straight through its face.</p><p>When she stops screaming, a fine rain of blood and bone, and probably brains, hits her face. She wrenches her arm out from under the foot as the creature teeters. It falls forward as she’s crawling, and she has to wriggle out from under it, panting for breath and aching everywhere. The world goes black at the edges and her mind drifts.</p><p>At some point she comes back to consciousness, lying facedown in rubble, aching and lightheaded. Chouko sits up and decides the dizziness is from shock. After a breath, she struggles to her feet. </p><p>The deathclaw lies dead beside her, with a hole clear through its head, but that doesn’t stop Chouko from taking her sidearm and unloading a clip into what’s left of the deathclaw’s skull. That done, she scans the area. There don’t seem to be any more, and for once a pack of ghouls hasn’t come running to investigate the gunshots. Chouko slumps back against the wall and looks down.</p><p>The blood coating her chest isn’t all from the deathclaw, but there isn’t much she can do right now. A stimpack will keep her on her feet, but it’ll also worsen the bleeding. The damn things weren’t designed for her biology and carry some weird side effects.</p><p>Her left arm won’t move, the shoulder’s dislocated, and she doesn’t have the strength, or a strong enough wall, to knock it back into place. Her only course of action is to grab what she can and hike out to someone who can help, hoping she doesn’t run into any of the typical nasties on the way.</p><p>All-in-all, everything is shit.</p><p>There’s nothing for it but to start walking.</p><p>“Halt, civilian!”</p><p>Chouko grits her teeth and turns. Two suits of power armor level laser rifles at her. Her fingers twitch on the trigger of her 10mm.</p><p>“State your business!” The suits’ speakers always distort people’s voices in odd ways; she can’t identify the soldier.</p><p>“Go fuck yourself,” she snaps.</p><p>“State your business!” the suit snaps back.</p><p>She takes a step towards them and watches the robotic hands tighten on the guns.</p><p>“You have a lot of nerve coming up here in your big airship with all your vertibirds, storming all over the Commonwealth, and ordering the people who live here around like you’re the goddamn military. Let me tell you something, you’re not.</p><p>“This is Cambridge, not D.C. and you can go back there if you want to tell people they can’t scavenge for necessities in this shitty hellscape.”</p><p>The suit on the left lowers its gun slightly. After a tense moment, the solider pushes down the barrel of the other’s rifle as well.</p><p>“Ma’am, we’re checking our perimeter,” the voice crackles. The paint on the arm seems to indicate a paladin, lower ranked than Danse.</p><p>The other one is a Knight, and Chouko wouldn’t put it past Rhys to take a shot at her if he thought he could get away with it.</p><p>“Check on then.”</p><p>“You appear injured.” The paladin takes a few steps forward, barrel lowered but at the ready.</p><p>Chouko imagines the thoughts running through the thick skull inside. No obvious raider markings, high-quality merc armor, vault suit, and modified weaponry. She’s not easy to place and it often makes people nervous when they meet her. Also, she’s splattered with fresh blood and probably looks half out of her mind.</p><p>“Do you need medical assistance?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” she says, though her inability to move her left arms speaks otherwise.</p><p>“What happened?” the paladin asks.</p><p>The knight’s barrel has swung slightly up again and Chouko doesn’t want to get into a gunfight with two suits of power armor when she’s only got one working arm.</p><p>“Deathclaw.” </p><p>“Shit.” It appears the knight can say more than ‘state your business.’</p><p>“You should come back to headquarters with us,” the paladin presses. “We have food and water. You can rest before continuing on your way.”</p><p><em>Come in and be inspected, </em>is what they mean but are too polite to say it.</p><p>“Fine,” Chouko says. If she’s going to bleed out, she may as well yell at a few people first.</p><p>~~~</p><p>She hasn’t been back this way since Kellog—since that dirigible appeared—and the change in the police station is impressive, if unsettling. There’s a full patrol outside, another set of fortifications, and the originals have been reinforced. A vertibird now sits on the rooftop helipad. The soldiers eye her as she’s led past and nod to their paladin.</p><p>She follows the paladin in, aware that the knight is still very ready to shoot her in the back as they climb the stairs.</p><p>“If you’ll just—” the solider begins to say, but Chouko is done, done with all of it.</p><p>She tosses her pack against the nearest desk, startling the scribe sitting there, and slams her sidearm down on top of it.</p><p>“Where’s Danse?” she barks at the room in general.</p><p>Scribe Haylen pushes forward from behind the duty counter.</p><p>“Chouko? It’s been—”</p><p>“Not now, Erica, where’s your boss?”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Haylen says, getting a good look at her. “Is that your blood?!”</p><p>The paladin who led her here pulls off her helmet and makes a face. “Why didn’t you say you knew Paladin Danse, civilian?”</p><p>Danse comes out of a side office and smiles when he spots her. Like always, the expression is fleeting, and if Chouko hadn’t been intently watching for him, she would have missed it. He looks, if not better rested, then at least less travel-worn and anxious. “It’s been almost a month since your last visit and Scribe Haylen was starting to worry about you. Glad to see—” he trails off, expression going wooden as he sees just what a mess she is.</p><p>Chouko doesn’t consider herself mad, a little unhinged perhaps but not mad, so she doesn’t feel the need to check whatever comes out of her mouth next.</p><p>“After everything I’ve done for you,” she snaps, striding towards him. His eyes widen and he scans between her and the soldiers looking for some explanation, “this is how I’m treated?”</p><p>“Chouko—what’s—? Are you injured?”</p><p>“When you asked for my help, I should have told you where you could shove that laser rifle.”</p><p>He flushes, which is the strongest emotional reaction she’s ever gotten out of him, and it only sets her off further.</p><p>“You ungrateful, greedy—”</p><p>She jabs his chest with each word and he stares down at her, too shocked to move. She’s dressed like normal, vault suit, jacket and armor, but in complete disarray. Fresh and old blood stains cover her clothes, her greasy, tangled hair sticks out at odd angles, and she doesn’t have a helmet or her normal sunglasses.</p><p>Every gesture is a bizarre staccato of movement, reminding him of a malfunctioning Mister Handy. She looks like she might be injured, but she might also be on drugs with her red eyes, dilated pupils, and shrieking.  </p><p>“Hold on!” the paladin from the patrol comes up beside them, trying to stick an armored hand between Chouko and Danse. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Sir, we found this civilian in the ruins while we were on patrol. We didn’t recognize her so we asked her to accompany us back to base.”</p><p>Danse waves the woman back. Chouko feels herself trembling with anger. Or maybe it’s the blood loss. Or the lack of sleep. Or the misery is finally catching up with her.</p><p>“They were acting on my orders, General. You should understand the importance of maintaining a secure perimeter.”</p><p>He never uses her title; he thinks it’s a joke. Which means he must consider all of this a joke too.</p><p>“Your orders!” Chouko feels almost hysterical. “This is my fucking territory, Danse. Concord to the river. <em>Mine</em>.”</p><p>“You know this is our base,” Danse says, strain evident in his voice. He’s never seen her like this before. Her sudden hostility keeps him from thinking clearly. Part of him wants to revert to the role of cold soldier dealing with an unruly civilian. He’s done it so many times, it would be easy, like flipping off the safety on his rifle. But he knows her. He respects her judgment and her character. So he fights the impulse, fights to understand what’s happening instead of dressing her down for her tone.</p><p>“I thought they were coming to extract you, not—not—” She gestures wildly with her one working arm. “Invade.”</p><p>“This is not an invasion,” he says sternly, as if speaking to a child. Chouko could almost take a clip and unload it into his infuriatingly handsome face. </p><p>She pulls back, almost stepping on Haylen who hovers behind her with a fearful expression that only makes this all worse.</p><p>“Arrogant children, exploding left and right! I should have never helped you! You’re making things worse!”</p><p>“Exploding? Explain,” Danse says crisply.</p><p>Chouko reaches into a coat pocket, fumbling with the zipper. She gets her hand around the metal then flings it at him. He manages to catch most of the holotags and the room falls into an even tenser silence. “There’s your non-invasion.”</p><p>“Where did you get these?” His voice is cold, even, perfectly controlled, and it echoes in the stillness. </p><p> “I was outside Malden, there’s a supermutant hive there, and this bird comes swooping in, face on an entrenched position—<em>of supermutants</em>—with missile launchers. Of course they were shot down. The knights jettisoned, but nobody runs quickly in power armor and they couldn’t outrun the suicider that was waiting for them. By the time I got close, their power armor was slag.”</p><p>She’d wanted that power armor too. Seeing its half-molten, useless remnants had irritated her enough to call in an artillery strike on the mutants.</p><p>“None of them made it?” Danse sounds choked up, but his face doesn’t betray him.</p><p>Chouko’s nose wrinkles in disgust. These people hate synths, but they’re doing their best to act like them. “When I was in Alaska they would have court-martialed a pilot who merely thought of doing something so insanely stupid. Do you all just have so many soldiers and so many birds that you throw—”</p><p>“I didn’t know you served. I thought your husband—“ He can’t quite finish the sentence, but with the mood she’s in, she doesn’t need him to.</p><p>“I didn’t serve. But headquarters had me embedded in frontline command to make sure the idiots were pointing our weapons in the right direction. It’s where we met.”</p><p>Discomfort claws at Danse, but does his best not to show it. For some reason each mention of her husband hits like a blow, a dark reminder that unsettles him. Maybe the feeling arises because it is so hard to believe that this woman is Pre-War, part of the decadent past the Brotherhood preserves but disdains.</p><p>“But that’s only four of them,” Chouko continues. “You’re going to love hearing what happened to the patrol I found out in Eastie. It involves mirelurks!”</p><p>Danse grabs her arm before she can say anything further. “Let’s continue this conversation in my office.”</p><p>He half-drags her from the room. The Commonwealth has been tough on every patrol sent to it. Hell, his team wouldn’t have survived if not for the raving, blood soaked woman struggling to break free of his grip. And that hasn’t changed now that the Prydwen is here. It’s demoralizing for the soldiers to hear about their losses, and for some incomprehensible reason Chouko seems determined to rub it in.</p><p>“I’d recommend giving up shellfish for a while,” she says far too loudly as he gets her through the doorway.</p><p>Danse kicks his office door shut and then the soldiers in the main room can only hear indistinct yelling.</p><p>One of the field scribes sidles up to Haylen, who half followed after Danse, and finds herself fretting before the closed door.</p><p>“Is this the pre-war housewife Rhys keeps bitching about?”</p><p>“That’s the woman who saved our butts from ferals and got us the transmitter dish. She drives Rhys crazy because she won’t join.”</p><p>“I’ve never seen someone mouth off to Danse like that before. I like her.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Haylen’s attention drifts back to the closed door. Something is <em>wrong</em>but there’s nothing she can do right now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sleep's important folks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. May 2288 - Danse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In Danse’s office, the paladin retreats across the room, unsure what to do in the face of this particular onslaught. Chouko, or the Minuteman General as she likes to be called, has always been polite, and she’s usually friendly.</p><p>She smiles at him.</p><p>She brings them food without asking for payment. She doesn’t say she wishes she’d left them to die—until today.</p><p>She’s one of the few people Danse has been able to rely on for the past few months, and now something has gone terribly wrong.</p><p>Danse stops moving when his back hits the wall, but his crossed arms don’t prevent Chouko from jabbing him in the chest.</p><p>“And then, after everything, your leadership decides to invade—“</p><p>Danse grabs her shoulders and she winces. “Chouko! It is not an invasion. They are here to find the Institute, to make them stop harming people, and they came to retrieve what’s left of my team. We’re trying to bring order to the Commonwealth.”</p><p>She pulls away and steps back. Danse doesn’t want to let her go. He wishes there was something he could do to reassure her or to help her. It strikes him suddenly that the last time she saw aircraft was the Great War.</p><p>“We’re not here to drop bombs on the Commonwealth.”</p><p>She doesn’t respond, just moves further away, hugging her left arm with her right. Perhaps she doesn’t believe him. He hadn't considered what the Brotherhood's arrival would look like to the citizens of the Commonwealth, people who are used to constant attacks perpetrated by the more powerful faction living beneath them. Danse’s hands clench—and feel slick.</p><p>He looks down at his right hand and realizes there’s fresh blood on it. For a moment he blinks, unable to understand. Then his chest tightens.</p><p>“You’re bleeding? That is <em>your </em>blood?!” He assumed he was looking at the remnants of several recent firefights splattered across her coat and armor, not—not her blood.  </p><p>Chouko tenses and drops her eyes, edging further away. “I’m fine. I’m glad this isn’t an invasion. I’ll leave you to it.”</p><p>She’s hiding the pain, but now that he’s looking for it, Danse spots all the signs. And could hit himself for having been too distracted to see them earlier. Her outburst makes sense now: shock, the horror that sinks in when adrenaline wears off. She’s not in her right mind.</p><p>Danse hurries across the room. This time he is not going to watch her walk out into the wasteland alone. “Hold on. You’re injured. Haylen can—”</p><p>Chouko grabs the doorknob. “I don’t need anything!”</p><p>So stubborn, he thinks. She’d rather face the wastes severely injured than accept his help, but he doesn’t plan to give her a choice. Danse grabs Chouko's right arm and pulls her back. “Haylen!” he shouts.</p><p>“Merde!” The woman jerks in his grip, nearly pulling him off balance with a surprising show of strength. “Let go of me, Danse! I’m not one of your initiates!”</p><p>“Haylen! Medkit!” he shouts over her protests.</p><p>She almost slips free of him, so he risks looping his other arm around her waist to keep her in place. The sharp intake of breath means the injuries aren’t just to her arm, but at the moment Danse is more afraid of her getting away than exacerbating her wounds. He pulls her back from the door, shouting again for a medkit.</p><p>Haylen runs in, followed by a few others soldiers. They’re treated to the stream of creative profanity issuing from the Minuteman General as she kicks Danse in the shins.</p><p>“Stop struggling! Let us tend to your wounds.” He uses his most commanding tone on her, to no effect. The edge on his voice isn’t all for show, her kicks <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>“I am refusing medical treatment. Let go of me!”</p><p>“Haylen, do something! She isn’t thinking clearly.” </p><p>Haylen has frozen, eyes wide. For a moment, Danse fears this is causing her a flashback to Worwick. Then she seems to snap out of it. “Chouko, I won’t sedate you, I swear!”</p><p>Chouko stops struggling and looks at Haylen with narrowed eyes. The sudden cessation of flailing startles Danse. For a moment he fears she’s lost consciousness, but she hasn’t gone limp in his grip. Despite whatever is wrong with her, she stands tall and tense.</p><p>“What exactly do you swear by, Haylen? You’re not a religious woman.”</p><p>“The Codex. No one is going to knock you out or give you anything you don’t want to take. I won’t allow it. But please, if you’re hurt, let me help you—as your friend.”</p><p>A pregnant pause follows and then Chouko sags slightly in Danse's arms.  </p><p>“Alright then. Since Paladin Danse here isn’t going to take no for an answer, I suppose that’s good enough.”</p><p>Danse releases her and steps back but stays alert in case she tries to bolt. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>His scribe puts her medkit on a nearby desktop and begins setting up. “She lost 200 years, her husband and child in involuntary cryosleep, sir.” Her attention shifts to her patient. “You probably don’t sleep much, do you?”</p><p>“No, not if I can avoid it.”</p><p>“Alright, everyone get out.” Danse shoos the rest of the soldiers out, eyeing the weapons a couple have drawn. That might require some handling later.</p><p>Chouko shrugs off her tattered coat. Maybe there’s some hope for it, but she’s afraid it’s too damaged. Her combat armor follows and the chest piece is clearly a total loss. She might as well get the most out of this ridiculous situation and use the Brotherhood’s medical supplies instead of the Minutemen’s. And this way Preston won’t have to see how bad it is. She sighs, and the world blurs at the edges. Danse should never have been able to hold her in place, so maybe he is right about her needing their help. </p><p>“Erica, you’re going to need sutures, bandages, the biggest bottle of vodka you can find, and someone stronger than you to pop my arm back into the socket. I was going to make Preston do it when I got back to Sanctuary, if he didn’t faint first. He’s not a fainter, but he doesn’t do well when I’m hurt.”</p><p>And now she's rambling. Chouko drags her hand down her face and tries to hold it together. </p><p>Danse turns sharply and his eyes widen when he sees her without her armor while Haylen nods. Chouko’s vault suit is torn across the chest and stomach. Flaps of discolored fabric hang loose. Everything is soaked in blood. His breath hitches and his fists clench.</p><p>Danse’s reaction surprises Chouko. As an experienced soldier he’s seen much worse on people he knows much better than her. He must really need the food she brings them. </p><p> “Paladin,” Haylen’s voice is thick with emotion. “I think you should leave the room too. And please send Scribe Keller in.”</p><p>Danse crosses his arms and plants his feet, looking for all the world like one of those patriotic statues that had started cropping up in public places in the hundred years before the end of the world. He could grace the courtyard of some government building, wrench in hand with a little plaque declaring ‘<em>The Innovative American Spirit’ </em>or some such nonsense at his feet.</p><p>“What? Why? You might need assistance.”</p><p>Haylen she can handle, but Chouko can’t manage the paladin right now. So she pulls the zipper partway down on her vault suit and looks up at him through her lashes. “Because I’m not wearing anything under this. And we’re not on those kind of terms.”</p><p>Danse blushes, and, stuttering, stumbles out. Now <strong>that </strong>was the strongest emotional reaction she’s gotten from him.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Scribe Keller emerges nearly half an hour later. In the meantime, Danse has gone over the duty rosters, ordered everyone back to work, and commended Paladin Franklin for bringing an injured civilian in for aid. But none of that has done anything to ease the tight knot in his stomach, which worsens every time he catches sight of the blood on the front of his uniform. If anything, Keller’s drawn expression only makes the feeling worse.</p><p>“Report Scribe,” he barks.</p><p>“Sir, I don’t know how that woman is still alive, let alone guzzling vodka and making jokes.”</p><p>Relief and panic hit Danse at once, and he barges into his office. The door bangs open and he grabs it, catching it as it swings back towards him. The room is darker than the main room, he has to blink until his eyes refocus in the dim light.</p><p>Chouko sits on his desk in a Brotherhood uniform, the orange a shocking contrast to her normal blue. As his eyes adjust, he sees just how much skin shows; the suit’s too small and she hasn’t zipped it more than half way up, leaving a plunging V almost to her naval. Luckily, or unluckily for her, the bandages almost make an undershirt. He looks away quickly.</p><p>Off to the side, Haylen washes her hands in a bucket. She nods at him but her face is grim. Danse drags his attention back to Chouko, trying to keep his eyes from dipping.</p><p>She’s watching him. A cigarette dangles from her mouth as she strikes a match, cupping the flame as she raises it to the cigarette.</p><p>This is the woman who was blasting pre-War music while picking off ghouls in one of the most ghoul-infested areas he’s ever seen. Who stormed into his base and told him his Brotherhood was wasting its members’ lives. And her sitting there in a Brotherhood uniform with smoke swirling around her is somehow more unsettling than the rest of it. He doesn’t understand the tightness in his chest, but thinks it must have to do with his worry for her.</p><p>His unreasonable worry for this civilian who won’t leave him alone.</p><p>“I didn’t realize you smoked.”</p><p>Chouko waves out the match and takes a long drag. The cigarette dangles from her hand as she looks up at him. “I don’t smoke. It’s a dirty habit. But I am drunk.”</p><p>He’s so taken aback he has to look away again. There’s something about her movements that are off, not like the cool precision she’s shown in a battle.</p><p>Danse turns back to Haylen to center himself. “How bad was it?”</p><p>Haylen tosses an empty stimpack in the trashcan before sliding the extra bandages back into her kit.  Her fingers toy with her medical shears before she glances over her shoulder at Chouko. “Sir, they made them different Pre-War. No one else would have been able to walk here in that condition, let alone be up and talking after the number of stiches I just put in her. And the only thing she’d take for the pain was alcohol.”</p><p>Danse returns his attention to Chouko, while trying to look only at her face. “You need rest. You may not be one of my initiates, but I do plan on insisting.” If only she were one if his initiates, he could keep her safe from whatever the Commonwealth has been doing to her, the way it’s been slowly eating away at her. If only she were one of his initiates, he wouldn’t have to worry about feeling these strange pangs for a civilian; he wouldn’t feel anything like this at all.</p><p>It would all be professional. Just like with Haylen.</p><p>Chouko takes another drag while looking at him. “I don’t sleep around other people. I don’t sleep very much at all. And resting is what happened before the world got nuked, back when you could lock your door and didn’t have to worry about the mindless, irradiated corpse of your neighbor crawling in through your broken windows.”</p><p>Danse looks her over, faintly aware of the sounds of Haylen leaving behind him. The woman in front of him is a crack shot, capable. Yes, she’s panicked under pressure, the first time they encountered a synth, and again when they were swarmed in the basement of Arcjet, but who hasn’t panicked now and again? This though, this grim despair, is different. “I’ve never seen you in a state like this before, not even when we were taking heavy fire. What happened?”</p><p>Chouko leans back on the desk and stares at ceiling. She wanted to rage and scream and break things, but now the energy has gone out of her. Alcohol swirls in her empty stomach, deepening the feeling of emptiness and adding a faint wash of nausea. “I caught the man that murdered my husband and stole my son. I shot him with a mininuke. And then an assault rifle. And then I cut off his fucking head to make sure he’d stay dead. But as much fun as that was, I’m no closer to Shaun.”</p><p>The pit widens in Danse’s gut and a deep horror grips him. “Oh no. What did he do to your child?”</p><p>Chouko tilts her head back down to look at him—one of the few people in the Commonwealth who cares what happens to her, not because he’s getting something out of it, but because that’s just how he is. “He gave my baby to the Institute, but he brought him back out now and again so he could play family in Diamond City. And it’s been at least ten years since he took him, so Shaun isn’t a baby anymore. Will probably even reject me when I try to get him back, because he’s half-grown up without me.  </p><p>“And then I got ambushed by a deathclaw while I was trying to get into the old Harvard science labs to see if they had anything useful against a pack a child-stealing, technologically advanced maniacs. And I stumbled down here to yell at you before I bled out, because you told me the Brotherhood fights abuses of technology, but all I’ve seen are vertibirds fighting raiders and super mutants and patrols trying to strong arm food out of people.”</p><p>“We are trying to fight the Institute, but there are so many threats in the Commonwealth that we can’t ignore. The Capital isn’t like this any more, and we can bring peace here too. The food issue, I’m sure that’s some misunderstanding. But we can discuss all of this in more detail when you’re feeling better.”</p><p>“I don’t think I’m capable of feeling better.”</p><p>Danse approaches slowly, feeling the tension between them. He takes the cigarette from her unresisting hand and crushes it out on the desk. Then he gently pulls her off the desk. She lets him lead her across the room to a cot. Her discarded clothes and holsters litter the floor. He pulls back the blanket and pushes her unresisting form in. Chouko collapses onto the bed and groans. Confusions swirls through the paladin as he looks down on her prone form. She looks so helpless, and he doesn’t like it. He pulls the blanket over her.</p><p>“This is your bed, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I have evening watch tonight. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>Chouko pushes herself up on her elbow. “I shouldn’t be here.”</p><p>“I think this is exactly where you belong.”</p><p>He turns and walks away, and she slumps down.</p><p>~~~</p><p>“Sir?” Haylen’s subdued voice draws Danse out of a brown study. He’d been processing reports on autopilot and comes out of it with a start.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I wanted to speak to you about our guest.”</p><p>“Permission granted,” he says while trying to fight off a growing sense of unease. Haylen edges closer, keeping her voice low. For a moment he wonders if the injuries are too severe—if—</p><p>“She has a surprising number of scars.”</p><p>Danse blinks, abruptly cut off from a dark train of thought. “Haylen, she might not be Brotherhood, but she has seen combat. It is normal for civilians to pick up such things out here.”</p><p>Haylen shifts uncomfortably and for the life of him Danse can’t guess whatever unspoken thing she’s trying to convey.</p><p>“She’s been out of the vault less than a year, right?”</p><p>“Affirmative.”</p><p>“Do you know anything about her previous life, sir?”</p><p>“I know what she’s told us, Haylen. She was married to a pre-War solider. They had one child, inhabited of the nearby town of Sanctuary. Scribe, I don’t see what any of that has to do with some scars.”</p><p>Haylen grimaces. “They’re not new scars. Well, some are. There’s some bullet marks, some burns that are probably laser fire. But the rest of them—” Her voice drops even further. “Sir, they’re old.”</p><p>“The Pre-War World—“</p><p>“Sir,” Haylen cuts in, “it looks like someone tried to stab her in the kidney, missed, then tried to gut her.”</p><p>Danse’s mind goes blank.</p><p>“There’s one down her back that looks like—I don’t know what it looks like, but it wasn’t made by a gun. And I’m pretty sure there are teeth marks on one of her arms.”</p><p>“Haylen,” Danse grasps for a reasonable explanation. “Automobiles crashed. Aircraft crashed. People had accidents.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” she says. “Just thought you should know, sir.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I write Danse as someone who has spent so many years pushing down his feelings that he isn’t a good judge of them anymore. After all, he’s someone who joined Lyons’ Brotherhood then has made it through all the intervening changes (like the return of the Outcasts), while remaining highly respected. He’s not an unreliable narrator, but he is an unreliable interpreter. Let me know whether you think this is coming across!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. May 2288 Prydwen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chouko floats back to consciousness reluctantly. Her body aches and the world stinks like the Thames in the summer of 1858. At the moment, the smell isn’t at its worst, but the sickly scent of blood hangs thick around her. It takes another few moments to realize it’s the smell of her own blood.</p><p>She jerks upright, reaching for a power that’s faint and sluggish, and is rewarded with searing pain up and down her torso. Her back twinges in protest, and her left arm protests against movement.</p><p><em>Deathclaw</em>, she remembers as her eyes adjust to the yellow light leaking in around the boards over the room’s windows. Dust, disturbed by her sudden movement, floats around her and tickles her nose. Chouko lets out a long breath, swirling the motes, and looks around. Her pack and remaining guns lie a few feet away against the wall. Her clothes have been neatly folded and stacked atop the remnants of her armor. Chouko stands slowly, wincing against the pain, and scans the rest of the room.</p><p>Her breath catches when she realizes she’s not alone. Danse sits in the desk chair, his head resting on crossed arms on the desktop, his massive bulk taking up most of the surface. He’s a big guy by Pre-War standards, practically a titan among the often malnourished wastelanders. The paladin is one of the few people she’s met so far who has more than a couple inches on her, even out of power armor. Chouko assumes never going hungry is one of the perks of being Brotherhood.</p><p><em>So much for evening watch</em>, she thinks. Of course he’d say that. He’d have said anything to get her to lie down. And she’d been weak enough to do it, surrounded by people she doesn’t know, seriously injured, and she’d given in.</p><p>Of course, the thought nags at the back of her mind, if it had been anyone else—anyone aside from maybe Hancock—she wouldn’t have given in so easily.</p><p>The pipboy flashes 6am. It takes another long moment for that to register. Shit. She slept for twelve hours. And didn’t even hear him come in.</p><p>Chouko shakes herself out of a daze and tries to get moving. She’ll thank Haylen for the help, hike to Sanctuary as fast as she can, and do something she hasn’t done so far. Break down on Preston. </p><p>The faint sound of rustling wakes Danse.</p><p>He holds still for a moment, trying to identify the noise’s location and inching his hand toward his sidearm before he remembers stumbling in after another almost all-nighter, exhaustion-drunk, to find the woman still sleeping in his cot.</p><p>There’s a click and Danse looks up sharply. The room is dim, but some light leaks around the boarded up windows. It’s enough to show Chouko standing a few feet in front of him with her back to him as she tightens the strap on her leg holster. She’s still in Haylen’s spare Brotherhood uniform.</p><p>“You’re in no state to go out there alone.”</p><p>She jumps, then winces and presses a hand across her stomach.</p><p>“I’m much better now,” she says in a voice that’s still thick with sleep or perhaps pain.</p><p>Danse pushes himself to his feet, feeling the weight of this moment. If she walks out the front doors now, she may never come back. The exhaustion hits him as he comes around the desk, but he refuses to feel it. So far that’s worked.</p><p>Chouko looks wary as he stops a couple feet away, arms crossed. She’s doing her best to hide that she’s in pain, but her hand still presses to her chest.</p><p>“You need support. You’ve been trying to do this all yourself, but this isn’t a fight for a single person. Join us.”</p><p>She grimaces. “Danse, I can’t give up on Shaun.”</p><p>He takes another step towards her, trying to convey the weight of this conversation, trying to make her see he is serious. And correct. He relies on his rank and authority so much, he feels unarmed knowing that they don’t carry any weight in this conversation. “Chouko, I’m not asking you to do that. If you’re one of us, that makes your son one of us too.  If you’re one of us, that means the Institute has a child of the Brotherhood of Steel.”</p><p>She sucks air in through her teeth and her eyes scan his face. “Why didn’t you say that before?”</p><p>Her searching look makes him uneasy. Her husband, her child, they’re not things Danse has experience with, and the way the Brotherhood treats such matters is very different than the way a civilian would. There’s no script or protocol Danse can follow here. Talking about them would be daunting enough if he didn’t feel deeply indebted to and concerned for this pre-War civilian.</p><p>“Because you were too angry. And as long as your husband’s killer was out there, there was no convincing you to commit to anything else. I kept offering because I wanted you to know you had someplace you could come back to, people who were willing to help you.”</p><p>Chouko puffs out her cheeks and leans heavily against the desk.  “You know I’m the general of the Minutemen, right? You’ve said there’s Brotherhood and then there’s everything else, but I won’t turn my back on them. They’re my . . .”</p><p>Relief hits. Danse allows himself to feel faintly amused at the question. “The Minutemen are a militia of farmers, not another army. We’re trying to protect the civilian population. And I mean no offense, but I doubt you’re a general in the traditional sense. Joining the Brotherhood would be the best way of protecting your Minutemen; it wouldn’t be abandoning them.”</p><p>A million thoughts fight for Chouko’s attention, among them the pain in almost every inch of her. But another pushes steadily forward, and that thought says <em>opportunity</em>. </p><p>The Minutemen don’t know anything she doesn’t. The Railroad is a useless pack of zealots. The major settlements have been infiltrated. And people like the Brotherhood have had two hundred years to pick through the world and take everything she might find useful. </p><p>They probably keep very good records.</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>The word tastes of ashes and blood.</p><p>~~~</p><p>“Welcome to the Prydwen, Initiate.”</p><p>Maxson looks over the woman. From Danse’s reports, she’d seemed almost like some inhuman being, swooping in to rescue Gladius when they needed it the most, destroying swaths of ghouls and then choosing to shoot her way through a killing field to get Danse out from under a rocket instead of taking the easy way out and igniting it. And Danse is the most stolid, factual field officer he has.</p><p>Maxson expected an angel.</p><p>He finds a woman in what he estimates is her mid-twenties with wide, brown eyes and a dangerous smile. Dark hair cascades over a shoulder, impractical and fascinating. She carries herself with an ease that’s almost unsettling, a smooth flow of movement that seems alien among the crisp movements of the Brotherhood.</p><p>She looks him over in return, sweeping him with a calculating look that is at once insubordinate and thrilling. He hasn’t ever had a woman look at him like that. It’s the confidence of someone who considers him an equal.</p><p>“Prydwen,” she says, the word rolling out easily in her strange, pre-War accent. “Well chosen without being too much.”</p><p>Her eyes are laughing slightly and there’s a subtle smile on her lips. It’s not an expression Maxson’s used to seeing, and it isn’t the sort of thing that’s ever directed at him. For a moment, Maxson thinks she’s laughing at him, but instead, he decides she’s too green to have realized she can’t laugh <em>with</em>him.</p><p>A moment later, he realizes the implication of her words. She <em>knows</em>. No one else besides Kells and Quinlan knows or cares.</p><p>Maxson decides to barrel past this perplexing turn in the conversation, back on track and back under control. She might be older than him, she might understand more than she should—but she’s still only an initiate. <em>His</em>initiate.</p><p>“Indeed. Initiate, I care about them, you know, the people of the Commonwealth.”</p><p>“Sir,” Chouko says, reading the nervousness in the man across from her and unable to resist pouncing on it. “Have you been on the ground yet? You might not feel the same way once you meet them.”</p><p>He looks like a startled kid, caught out of his depth, and she thinks that she’s devoured handsome men for less before. The thought reminds her abruptly of Danse, lurking behind her, a warm and almost certainly disapproving presence at this point, and how he is unsettlingly resistant to insinuation, flirtation, and even downright aggression.</p><p>Maxson isn’t sure how to take this statement. It’s been a long time since he’s been caught so flat-footed. And this woman, she doesn’t belong in the world, she’s something out of an ancient book. Stern and slightly blustery is how Maxson decides to play things. </p><p>“Do you think this is a joke? I refuse to allow the mistakes of the past to be repeated.”</p><p>Chouko’s smile fades and her expression turns solemn, aware that too much teasing will only get her in trouble with children who take themselves too seriously. “No, this is all too serious. Do you all still have the saying: those who don’t understand history are doomed to repeat it? I think it’s admirable that you’re working to break the cycle.”</p><p>Maxson rubs his chin. This is much more the woman Danse’s reports promised: Smart and capable, not oddly threatening. “I like that phrase. I’m glad you see our point.”</p><p>“I’m sorry if I seem lighthearted,” Chouko smiles again, but this time it’s apologetic and she spreads her hands. “It’s not my intention. I joke when I’m nervous. And I did not expect to get to meet you so soon, Elder.”</p><p>Chouko thinks a little flattery never hurts, especially on teenagers. She’s rewarded with a pause and a slight dip in his eye line. Maxson, she thinks, is not someone she’s going to have to worry about.</p><p>“Paladin Danse said you were injured?” the Elder asks her, as if he’s covering for his lapse in control.</p><p>“Deathclaw attack, sir,” Danse cuts in. He steps up beside Chouko and puts a heavy hand on her shoulder. “She’s still recovering.”</p><p>“Oh. Well I’m glad it did not take our promising new member. Go get settled in, meet the proctors and rest up, sister. Ad Victoriam.”</p><p>Chouko salutes crisply. “Ad Victoriam.”</p><p>Rhys crosses his arms and stomps ahead as they leave the observation deck. All of Recon Squad Gladius came aboard to restock and deliver the tech they’ve been collecting. “I can’t believe he made you a Knight. I bet you don’t even know what Ad Victoriam means.”</p><p>Chouko continues her practice of pretending she can’t see Rhys. “Curio, Cesare venne, e vide e vinse. But what do we think of Caesar?”</p><p>Around them the metallic walls creak and ding as they flex with the movements of their inhabitants. The scent of oil and sweat hangs heavy in the still air. The airship is more like a submarine than a plane. Chouko’s never cared much for submarines.</p><p>Haylen snorts. “Rhys, she’s pre-War and has actually been to college. Don’t be an ass.”</p><p>“What do you think of Elder Maxson?” Danse asks.</p><p>From the way he’s spoken of the young man, of his skills, his rapid rise through the ranks, and the pride of the East Coast chapter in having raised the last Maxson, Chouko knows this is slightly dangerous territory.</p><p>“He’s young, like a late antiquity king. It makes me nervous,” she admits, hoping Danse will appreciate the honesty. She finds she wants to be honest with him, which is an interesting sensation.</p><p>Rhys sneers at her. “You, nervous? Why?”</p><p>“Conquerors often don’t live long, nor produce successors capable of holding onto their conquests. What follows is war.”</p><p>Haylen stops dead. “The Brotherhood isn’t on a mission of conquest!”</p><p>Chouko gestures at the ship around them. “No, just asking the neighbors for some sugar.”</p><p>Danse is quiet, impossible to read. “Rhys, Haylen, go get some rest. I’ll give Knight Howard the tour.” They go off together, jostling and bickering, and Danse turns to Chouko. “You are going to have to make some adjustments to your worldview now that you are a Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, soldier.” </p><p>Chouko arches an eyebrow at him, but he’s being as diplomatic as he can. Probably. “I plan on it. But I will not be calling you “Top.””</p><p>Danse cracks a slight smile. “Fair enough. First things first, you need to go to medical.”</p><p>“Maxson told me to meet the proctors.”</p><p>Danse’s voice comes out stern and commanding. He keeps trying different tones on her, as if he thinks it’s the <em>tone </em>that will have any effect. “Elder Maxson doesn’t know the extent of your injuries.”</p><p>He turns and walks off. Chouko has no choice but to follow him or get lost in the metal maze.  </p><p>The paladin apparently plans to sit in on her medical exam. It takes Knight-Captain Cade ordering him out of the room for Danse to get the hint that he doesn’t belong. Choke hates to imagine how bad the hovering would get if Danse actually saw the lacerations and bruising criss-crossing her. When Chouko emerges afterwards, he’s leaning on the wall across from the door, arms crossed and frowning as if he thinks she might try to give him the slip.</p><p>He’s less gullible than expected.</p><p>“So?” Danse pushes away from the wall and falls in steps beside her. She has to lengthen her stride to keep up.</p><p>“Stitches out next week,” Chouko says. “Haylen’s getting a commendation for her neat sewing. And I’m still in better shape than most of you degenerate mutants.”</p><p>Danse glowers until the smile falls off Chouko’s face. Misstep after misstep. Chouko can’t understand what’s changed so drastically in the past twenty-four hours.</p><p>They used to get along.</p><p>“It was a joke,” she says flatly, turning away from him. “Does nobody joke up here?”</p><p>“You are a Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, and you are making your first impression on most of your brothers and sisters. It would be advisable to save the joking for a later point.” Danse sees her pursed lips and thinks with a pang it might be harder to keep her safe than he imagined. “A much later point,” he amends and her expression goes sour.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Early June 2288</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay, I've had extra long hours at work lately. I might have to start giving the chapters real titles since I'm setting them closer together now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chouko leans on a table in the Prydwen lab, putting drops of a solution into test tubes while Scribe Neriah examines one. “I don’t understand what’s going on, he won’t leave me alone. I’m supposed to report in at certain times for training on the Codex, weapons, field tactics, but he’s there when I get to mess in the morning and he won’t let me out of his sight all day. It’s driving me insane. He even ordered me not to sleep on the forecastle.”</p><p>Neriah sighs and looks at the woman who’s quickly becoming her friend. “He’s worried about you, Knight. Paladin Danse has had a very difficult mission. He lost four knights so recently, and your injuries are causing him a great deal of concern. Also, you should not be sleeping on the forecastle; it’s dangerous!”</p><p>Chouko pouts at the scribe. “It comes across like he doesn’t trust me. He wasn’t like this before I joined.”</p><p>“You weren’t his responsibility before.”</p><p>“If I’d have known—” Chouko lets it drop. If she’d have known that Danse had become an almost obsessive worrier after the loss of half his team. If she’d known that only scribes have access to the Brotherhood’s databases. If she’d known that once you’re on the Prydwen, you need orders to be able to leave it. Those and a million other ‘if onlys’ haunt her waking hours.</p><p>It’s like the gods have come together in the last few months to punish her for everything she has ever done wrong in her long and eventful life.</p><p>A shout comes from below. “Knight Howard? Are you up there?”</p><p>The women look at each other. Chouko presses her hands to her face and groans. There is no escape on this floating death trap and the walls have been steadily closing in on her for days. Neriah grabs her shoulder and points to a nearby storage container while the other scribes giggle.</p><p>“Quick, hide in the locker!”</p><p>Chouko ducks into the locker as Danse comes stomping up the stairs, each step punctuated by a heavy clang of his power armor. His eyes sweep the lab, taking in the bizarre experiments and searching for his errant Knight. He understands the purpose of Scribe Neriah’s work, but he’s never been a particular fan of it. Chouko—Howard he reminds himself—somehow always seems to find her way back there though.</p><p>It shouldn’t worry him.</p><p>Danse tells himself it doesn’t worry him that she asks oddly detailed questions about things he doesn’t understand and she enjoys spending time with the scribes. There is no cause for concern, despite Proctor Quinlan’s protest that a pre-War woman had been made a knight without being given the opportunity to select her branch. Elder Maxson recognizes Danse’s experience and judgment, and Howard is a knight.</p><p>The scribes all look at him, then pretend to be busy with their work. They don’t like him being there any more than he does. </p><p>“Scribe Neriah, have you seen Knight Howard?”</p><p>Neriah barely glances up from a rack of test tubes of dubious purpose. “Have you checked below decks, paladin?”</p><p>Another paladin would not be so rude, but Danse is used to the haughty disdain of scribes. And used to seeing it melt out of field scribes somewhere in the first five minutes of taking fire. </p><p>“She had better not be down there. I specifically told her that area was for Initiates and Aspirants, not Knights.”</p><p>The scribe sighs and puts down her pipette.  “Paladin, it’s how new members get to know each other in their off hours. Knight Howard has not had the chance to meet many people yet, it would be beneficial—” </p><p>“Nevertheless, Knights must uphold a higher standard of decorum than initiates.” He’s had this conversation with Howard twice already, which is double the number of times it needed to be had. It’s not a good sign she’s brought it up to Neriah as well. </p><p>Danse goes off and Chouko peeks out. One of the scribes gives her a thumbs up, so she emerges, glancing around.</p><p>Neriah sighs and shakes her head. “Maybe you can ask Elder Maxson to make you a field scribe? I know Proctor Quinlan would jump on the chance.”</p><p>“Quinlan’s blank fish expression is worse than Danse’s stalking.” Chouko makes a face and Neriah giggles. “And Quinlan won’t stop asking me terribly uncomfortable questions about the old world.”</p><p>“What sorts of questions?”</p><p>“The last time he cornered me it was about Pre-War contraception.”</p><p>“Oh no!” Neriah presses a hand over her mouth while a scribe on the other side of the bay can’t contain a laugh.</p><p>Danse finally finds Howard an hour later, half an hour before she’s due for weapons practice, in Proctor Ingram’s work bay.</p><p>“No, no, no,” she exclaims and grabs an initiate’s hand, pulling the screwdriver away from the woman’s laser rifle.</p><p>The two women stand together at a workbench tucked into the corner of the bay with a few other initiates clustered around, watching. Howard has nearly half a foot on most of the women there, is about the average height of the men, and she stands with the easy confidence Danse remembers from their first meeting. She’s finally pulled her masses of hair into a braid, but it reaches halfway down her back, an alien symbol of a long-gone world. Despite their matching uniforms, she stands out from the little crowd.</p><p>All the initiates seem to be looking to her.</p><p>“Remember, you have to put everything back in the reverse order you took it out.”</p><p>The initiate nods and returns her attention to the workbench. Knight Howard nods at something and points.</p><p>Danse wishes he could preserve this moment. The laughter of the initiates, the slight tilt of Knight Howard’s head as she looks over the laser rifle, her smile before she realizes he’s there. She does realize he’s there a moment later, and the smile flickers.</p><p>Inwardly, Danse deflates, but nothing shows. He’s has too many tough years for that.  Much to his surprise, she waves him over.</p><p>“Paladin, what do you think?”</p><p>The initiates go rigid, into full attention as Danse steps into their circle, though nothing in his knight's demeanor changes. Howard’s hand lands on his arm as she points at the partially disassembled laser rifle on the workbench before them.</p><p>“You’re good with modifications, do you think Allen’s on the right track?” </p><p>Danse tries to push aside the odd feeling—the hyper-awareness of the light pressure of her hand. It may be a little unorthodox, but there’s nothing precisely <em>wrong</em> about it. So, why does he feel so wrong-footed? Danse pushes aside the feeling and focuses on the circuits.</p><p>~~~</p><p>It’s three am. At least ten people in the room are engaged in some form of snoring. The Knight in the top bunk hiccups in her sleep.</p><p>Chouko hasn’t slept in two days and the lack of rest is beginning to fray what remains of her sanity. Normally, she can go days without sleep, but she’d needed that 12 hour span in Cambridge and she needs more if she wants the lacerations down her chest to heal with minimal scarring.  There’s another hiccup from above her.</p><p>With a groan, Chouko rolls out of the bunk and into her boots. She’s not that worried about noise, these soldiers will sleep through anything that’s not a superior officer screaming. She paces for a while, testing herself on the layout of the decks, the locations of exits and hidden nooks, but that only kills so much time. If she passes them repeatedly, the Knights on duty are going to start asking questions.  She needs somewhere she can spend a few hours without drawing undue attention. </p><p>The Prydwen’s gym is blissfully empty, so she turns on a treadmill and runs.</p><p>
  <em>Fear is your only god on the radio.</em>
</p><p>“Howard,” her voice crackles over the radio. “What the hell is that noise?” She doesn’t mean the whirr of the vertibird’s rotors or the wind outside the cockpit.</p><p>
  <em>Nah, fuck it, turn it off. </em>
</p><p>He’s put it on their shared channel.</p><p>They can all hear it.</p><p>The three other people in the bird are lower ranked, so they’re not going to question an officer, but they might make reports.</p><p>Outside, miles of snow flash by, an undulating expanse of white and gray punctuated by distant conifers. It’s an hour to Forward Operating Base Gamma and they’re keeping it low and fast and hopefully undetected.  This far from the front, they should be fine, but as Howard keeps telling her, the Chinese have full stealth. He’d even been bold enough to suggest that she didn’t have to go in person—that she could send a subordinate on and wait back at command like all the other corpos. </p><p>That conversation had gone well. </p><p>Major Howard’s voice crackles back to her. “It’s called music, doctor.”</p><p>
  <em>Shut down tha devil sound.</em>
</p><p>“I believe it’s pronounced ‘sedition,’” she quips, needling, trying to get his measure. Yes, she’d requested him, but in this climate, she can’t be sure of her own judgment so easily. Two of the others, Okoye and Williams, have been with her for months, so she knows they’re hers and not Uncle Sam’s. The third, Vasquez, is Howard’s pick, another unknown to balance.</p><p>The major’s chuckle comes back to her.</p><p>“Going to report me, ma’am?”</p><p>There’s some nervous laughter from the others at this.</p><p>“I don’t report to anyone. There are, however, some antiques dealers who might be interested in speaking with you if you have a collection of old folk music.“ She tried to make sure the bird was clean, but she still tries to act as if there might be bugs. It doesn’t pay to get cocky. She shouldn’t have joked about sedition, just using the word flags a conversation for review if the security agencies pick it up.   </p><p>“Folk music?”</p><p>A hand taps her shoulder and she glances back over her shoulder, even though she shouldn’t take her eyes off their course. Major Howard leans forward as far as the harness will let him and mouths ‘are you serious?’ at her. She returns her gaze to the expanse of snow outside and adjusts the controls slightly.</p><p>“If your music choices prove unpopular, I’m down two people. I can’t afford to be short staffed.”</p><p>“Yes, doctor. Understood, doctor,” Howard snaps off. She can almost see the smirk she knows is there. He just loves throwing her title around like an enlisted man sneering about lieutenants. She can’t quite figure out if he’s ribbing her, trying to break down the barrier between corpos and soldiers, or if there’s some embarrassment beneath it. He'd been very interested to learn she'd lived in Massachusetts for a few years, but the interest had taken on an edge when she'd talked about Cambridge, which only worsened when she'd made a quip about Jesuits.</p><p>The air shifts slightly.</p><p>Chouko’s attention snaps back to the world—to the human presence less than a foot away from her. She drops to the treadmill surface, grabs the handlebar, and swings her legs around, sweeping those behind her.</p><p>She catches the man’s arm as he’s falling and begins twisting into a hold before her brain has fully returned to the present. Before it has…</p><p>registered the beard…</p><p>and the coat.</p><p>And the young Elder’s shocked expression as she torques his arm to the edge of breaking.</p><p>
  <em>Your savior's my guillotine, crosses and kerosene.</em>
</p><p>Chouko gasps and releases him, scurrying backwards while attempting to shut off her pipboy’s speaker. Her sweaty hands fumble with the controls.</p><p>“Elder Maxson,” she manages between pants, “I’m so sorry.” She finds she’s suddenly weak, out of breath, her mind a haze. “I—didn’t—”</p><p>Maxson pushes himself up onto an elbow and stares at her.</p><p>“I,” she tries again, “sorry.”</p><p>“Knight,” Maxson says, waving off the paladin who’s trying to help him up. “Do you know where you are?”  </p><p>“Prydwen gym.” She can manage that much. Chouko sits, legs akimbo with the edge of the treadmill jabbing into her side. The room’s no longer empty, and the people scattered through it all stare at her. “But I’m not sure how long I’ve been here.”</p><p>“You’ve been running for over an hour.” He gets to his feet and leans over her, examining her. “And frankly, you look like hell.”</p><p>Chouko runs her hands through her hair. She’s drenched in sweat, and her skin is hot to the touch. She isn’t too proud to accept Maxon’s hand when he offers it, though she has enough presence of mind not to put too much weight on him as he hauls her to her feet.</p><p>Over an hour—that’s too long, too obvious. Her stomach turns. The Brotherhood have been perfectly clear on their feelings about non-humans and she doesn’t have the hubris to believe any of them would consider her an exception. If anything, Neriah would get a brand new specimen.</p><p>“Your brothers and sisters were impressed at first, and then concerned.” Maxson eyes her.</p><p>She’s not exactly sure what to say to this. Chouko is concerned too, but there isn’t anything she can do about it. </p><p>“Knight Howard, you’ve clearly done your morning exercises sufficiently. Go back to barracks for a few hours sleep and come to the command deck after lunch. I have a mission for you and Paladin Danse.”</p><p>“Thank you, Elder.” Chouko appreciates the small mercy, as embarrassing as it is to have to receive it from this world-weary young man.</p><p>He lingers where she expected him to stride away. It’s hard to believe he isn’t bothered by being laid flat on his back out of the blue like that but there's no hostility in Maxson's demeanor. </p><p>“What was that music?”</p><p>The question throws her even further off balance. The pipboy weighs on her arm, almost as heavy as the dented gold band on the chain around her neck.</p><p>“Ah, it was—it was my husband’s,” she admits.</p><p>Maxson waits a moment for more explanation, but she doesn’t offer it.</p><p>“I’ve never heard anything like it,” he ventures.</p><p>Chouko’s mind races. Does she detect nervousness in the Elder? Is it for raising what he knows is a delicate subject or something else? Gods, she wishes she didn’t have to deal with this right now.</p><p>“It was banned in the early 21<sup>st </sup>century. Too unpatriotic. But Nate,” she forces a smile because otherwise she won’t have any control over her face, “he collected banned music.”</p><p>“An odd habit in a soldier, wouldn’t you say?” Maxson’s eyes sweep over her, as if he’s looking for signs of more recent sedition. If only he knew.</p><p>“As you said before, Elder, the old world was corrupt, decadent, and doomed. We knew it. My husband was an honorable man, but honor didn’t extend to following unjust rules. As the good book says, Justice, justice shall you pursue.” It isn't her book, but quoting it had often worked to her advantage before the bombs dropped.  </p><p>Maxson dismisses her with a nod, but his thoughtful expression leaves Chouko on edge.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Danse had been called to meet with Elder Maxson before he’d had a chance to look for Howard that morning. The Elder’s explanation had shaken him, and it had taken a surprising amount of effort for Danse not to leave immediately to check on his knight. She was his responsibility. And there was something wrong.</p><p>Elder Maxson’s suggestion that field service would straighten her out was the opposite of what Danse wanted, but his carefully worded objection was waved away before he’d gotten halfway through it.</p><p>Now, as the two of them stand before the elder and Maxson explains this suicide run, Danse’s heart sinks further. An entrenched position of super mutants would normally be dealt with by a full team. But Gladius is down to four members, two of whom are still stationed in Cambridge, and the Commonwealth has done more damage to the Brotherhood’s forces than any of them expected so there aren’t enough uninjured people to spare.</p><p>Danse can’t help thinking of the two of them making their way through Arcjet, of Chouko—Howard’s scream as a synth’s stun baton connected with her leg—and the way she’d dropped her gun and wrenched the machine’s head clear of its body and then flung it into the face of another shocked machine before pulling out the knife on her belt and slicing its exposed wiring.</p><p>She’d almost roasted him too. Danse had seen her hand hovering over the red button, eyes wide as all the synths descended on him. He’d tried to make his peace with the idea that it was necessary, that as long as she got the receiver back to Haylen, it would be worth it. Then she’d come barreling out of the doorway shooting and cursing the snyths, cursing him, cursing the world, life and existence. Danse had felt a stunning wave of relief that he wasn’t going to die that way. That she’d saved him again.</p><p>Her words bring him back to reality.</p><p>“Ad victoriam, Elder.”</p><p>Danse snaps a salute and follows her out of the Elder’s presence.</p><p>“Howard,” Danse says in the hall, before she can get too far ahead, before she runs off for her guns and armor. She stops short.</p><p>“You don’t approve; you’ve made that clear. Sir.”</p><p>“I don’t distrust you, you must know that. I would not have sponsored you otherwise.”</p><p>She turns to face him, her expression neutral except for a slightly arched eyebrow. </p><p>Danse stands there, a solid mass blocking most of the hall. A frown pulls down the corners of his mouth and his brows are knit.</p><p>Chouko has such trouble reading him. That fact has gone from amusing and interesting to a huge source of frustration in the past week. Now he’s in charge of her, technically, and Chouko likes knowing what people in charge are thinking, what they’re feeling, what their weaknesses are. Danse’s weakness seems to be his extreme concern about the safety of his underlings and an obsession with appearing to be a perfect, infallible soldier, which far from providing a pressure point on him has led to him trying to cabin her.</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>His mouth twists and he seems momentarily torn between letting it go at that and trying to explain himself. After a tortured moment, the latter wins out.</p><p>“From Scribe Haylen’s report, your injuries were severe. I admit you have recovered far more quickly than I expected, but I–”</p><p>Chouko lets her expression soften, it’s almost impossible not to. This big, hulking, rigidly emotionless man is worried about her, and in his own clumsy way trying to help her. That is impossible, but it doesn’t make his sentiment any less endearing.</p><p>“Believe me, paladin, some fresh air will be better for me than all the rest time cooped up in here.”</p><p>Time away from this mass of humanity. Time to be able to walk down a hallway without saluting. Time to make her own decisions. </p><p>It’s been centuries since she’s felt so powerless, and the experience serves as a bitter refresher. Perhaps it was necessary, in the long scheme of things, to remind her what she worked so hard to escape. The next apocalypse, she’ll know better than to get into any vault she hasn’t built herself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Aboard the Prydwen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Compared to the previous week, Fort Strong is somehow refreshing, blasting mutant scum from the safety of their power armor, taking revenge for Dawes in pints of blood and screams of pain. Out in the field, Danse feels like he and Howard are a team again, mowing down any super mutants who dare cross them, playing off each other’s strengths. Howard’s cautiousness and keen sense of hearing mean that they don’t walk into any surprises, but when she gets too nervous, Danse steps up and draws fire away from her. Danse doesn’t even mind her frequent humming since it seems to settle her nerves. Now and again, he catches bits of old tunes, some familiar, some new, and some in languages he doesn’t recognize.  </p><p>Howard grimaces and pulls faces as they nudge the green corpses in the main building’s first floor, looking for anything but especially the elevator keys, but she still does it. As they creep further into the complex, and the air becomes still and thick, the smells bring back horrible memories for Danse, ones he tries to keep locked away. That becomes harder and harder the less he sleeps. Each time they turn the corner into another horrific room, he’s hit by the sudden irrational fear of seeing a contorted but familiar face coming towards them.</p><p>They reach the lower level and for a moment Howard balks in the elevator.  Danse tries to find the words to encourage her on but they stick in his throat. “Let’s get a move on, soldier,” is what finally comes out. It sounds harsh even to him, but that harshness has served the purpose of getting Brotherhood recruits moving since time immemorial, so he tries not to feel any guilt about her pained expression as she fiddles with her helmet.</p><p>“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” she mutters as she eases past the doors and sweeps the hall.</p><p>“Who would you have elected to take our places?” Danse keeps his voice low to match hers and follows her down the hall. She’d fought him to go on this mission; her change of heart strikes him as odd, if not totally unexpected with the odds they’re facing.  The last time he’d been here with a team of five and retreated with only four. They’re lucky to have only taken a few bullets with no structural damage to their armor after facing a behemoth. </p><p>“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” She eases open a door and Danse rises out of his crouch to look ahead before she sweeps in.</p><p>Danse isn’t sure what she means, so he stays silent. She drops a mutant hound with a single shot through its eye and sighs into the echo of the retort.   </p><p>The sound brings muties to investigate. The first one spots the hound’s corpse and lets out a roar of rage that chills Danse’s blood. His heart pounds in his chest as the adrenaline begins to rush again.</p><p>“Fuck,” Howard’s voice echoes across their intercom a second before another gunshot cracks through the hall.</p><p>The mutant stumbles, hand going to its neck. Blood pours between its fingers as it wavers on its feet. The assault rifle cracks again, blasting a hole clear through the monster’s eye and spraying brains across the ceiling. Two perfect shots. It drops, and footsteps thunder in the hall as more creatures rush towards the sound.</p><p>“For the—” Danse begins but Howard throws out a hand, stopping his forward rush.</p><p>“This is a chokepoint,” she says calmly. “I’d rather make them wade over their own dead than do it myself.”</p><p>He sees her point, but it’s a painful process waiting for each one to come through the door or around the corner at the end of the hall, blasting them before they can gain any ground. Danse would rather rush in and engage. But Danse also lost a man here, so he lets Howard set the pace.  Eventually, the mutants stop coming and they begin to edge forward again.</p><p>“I meant I wish there weren’t super mutants here,” she says as she kicks a corpse aside. “I wish super mutants weren’t flesh-crazed monstrosities.  And I sure fucking wish we weren’t in a dilapidated basement.”</p><p>“Even if there weren’t super mutants, there would still be someone to contend with,” Danse tells her. It’s not exactly comforting, but he’s found coming to terms with ugly facts makes bearing their existence easier. “It’s an unfortunate truth that war is a part of human existence.”</p><p>“There was a time,” Howard’s voice comes across soft and wistful through his headset, “a brief few decades when it seemed like maybe they’d moved past it. New peace, leaps in technology, plenty for everybody. A golden age for humanity. And then the 2050s hit.”</p><p>Danse has never asked Howard’s age. It’s not relevant, and some would consider it rude, but now he considers it seriously for the first time.  She went into the vault in 2077. She appears to be in her early twenties, but it’s unclear how aging differed in the past and highly likely she appears younger than a wastelander of the same age would. Late twenties he guesses, making her younger than him, though she doesn’t act it.  Which would mean she was born in the 2050s, when the old world really started going to hell.</p><p>“Your parents must have told you about it all,” he says. “I’m sorry neither of us were able to experience such a peaceful time, but the excesses of that time are what led to the current state of the world.”</p><p>“You’re telling me,” she mutters. “You’ve never seen an open-pit mine.”</p><p>He wants to ask her what that is. He has so many questions about the Pre-War world, about people’s lives, about the world the old songs speak about, but a single song on Diamond City radio can send her into a brown study. Danse doesn’t want to salt fresh wounds, so he holds his questions.</p><p>When everything is finally dead, Danse heaves a sigh of relief and catches Howard watching him, but he’s shielded from the intensity of her gaze by her helmet. </p><p>They’ve recovered the mini-nukes without any serious injuries, though from Howard’s slowed movements as they regain the surface, it’s clear field duty was not the best medicine for her injuries. She pulls off the helmet of her power armor and sits on an outstretched leg of the dead behemoth as they wait for their pick-up. Blood runs down the side of her face and neck and there are black smudges of oil and grease on her skin. Danse knows he must look similarly battered. He kicks a dead mutant, sending the head careening through the doorway of a bombed out building and again catches Howard watching.</p><p>“You must hate them as much as I do,” Danse says with a gesture around at the gore. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but the words come tumbling out, his pain wrapped in a coating of venom while Howard sits there quietly. She doesn’t interrupt as his hatred spews out, unchecked, reflecting a decade of losses and pain.</p><p>“I've been fighting for years trying to put a stop to this madness and just when I thought we were getting the upper hand, along come the synths.” He lets the words flow, as they so rarely do and she listens. He sees the corner of her mouth quirk slightly and realizes he’s been rambling about a second end of the world. “Listen, I don’t mean to bore you with my rhetoric, I just want you to understand how important our missions are.”</p><p>“Danse, Gen 3 snyths aren’t the same as super mutants,” Howard says quietly, throwing him off balance. “Have you ever met one?”</p><p>“Met one?” He’s incredulous. The mere idea repulses him, as does the implication that Howard has encountered one outside of combat. “Of course not.”</p><p>“They’re no more inclined to Armageddon than the average person. Sometimes, after they escape, they don’t even remember they’re synths anymore.”</p><p>“Don’t remember?” he chokes out. He can’t even process such an absurd statement. “How could a machine not know what it is?”</p><p>She shrugs, the elegant gesture rendered alien by her power armor. “Things are more complicated than biology versus machinery, as I learned when I opened up Kellog’s head.”</p><p>“You can’t be serious. Machines cannot be indistinguishable from people. People have souls.” </p><p>“Prajnanam Brahma.” She shrugs again as if it doesn’t really matter to her.</p><p>Danse doesn’t know if those were words or just some dismissive noise.  If this is how she truly feels, they are going to face problems.  He doesn’t have a chance to pursue this uncomfortable discussion further as the whirr of an approaching vertibird makes conversation nearly impossible.</p><p>As soon as the vertibird hits the Prydwen’s deck, it’s like a switch goes off in Howard. When they report to Maxson, she’s all crisp professionalism, none of that talk of synths being better than mutants. Danse wants to ask how she could believe such things, but there’s no opening as they head down to the workbay, and he can’t form a sentence that sounds good in his head and won’t alarm the soldiers around them. She drops her power armor in its station and grimaces all the way to Knight-Captain Cade. The sight of her blood puts any thoughts of synths out of Danse’s mind and brings a churning guilt to his gut. Another of his soldiers injured under his command.     </p><p>Danse sits on the other side of the screen in medical, a bandage pressed to his neck to stem the flow of blood from a cut and listens to Howard arguing that she doesn’t need a stimpack.</p><p>“I’m allergic.”</p><p>“Knight,” Cade’s voice sounds particularly long-suffering today. “You’re not allergic. You have some interesting side effects, but that’s not an allergy.” There’s a tense pause. “Another stimpack would finish closing up those chest wounds. I can give you something for the nausea, and there isn’t the risk of excess bleeding anymore. We’ve got bloodpacks.”</p><p>“It will scar more.” Howard’s voice is so low Danse hardly catches her words. It reminds him of Haylen’s whispered comments to him in the police station.</p><p>“There isn’t room for vanity in the Brotherhood,” Cade chides her.</p><p>“Knight-Captain,” Danse calls, “leave Knight Howard alone if she isn’t in risk of bleeding out. She’s helping us save stimpacks for emergency use.”</p><p>Cade mutters but moves on.   </p><p> As soon as the doctor releases her, Howard scuttles off, ignoring Danse’s invitation to work on their suits together.  He can’t figure it out, so he does the only thing he feels completely at home and comfortable doing, sinking into the work of getting his armor back into prime operating condition.  </p><p>“You might want to talk to your initiate, paladin.”</p><p>Danse is startled out of his focus. He shakes himself slightly and puts down the screwdriver. Turning away from his power armor, he finds Paladin Gikopoulou standing beside him.</p><p>“Excuse me?” He rises to his feet.</p><p>“Your new girl. You need to talk to her. Unless—” The other paladin gives him a long look, then shakes her head. “She’s too green to be bunking up with people already.”</p><p>“I—” Nothing makes sense, and Danse tries to focus, but he doesn’t understand. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, paladin.”</p><p>“Danse,” she says, looking him in the eye. She thinks he’s dense, a lot of them do, but sometimes it just takes him a little longer than them to parse subtext, or to translate their expressions into meanings. “For the third time in a week your initiate isn’t sleeping in her bunk. Sooo, she’s sleeping somewhere else. Probably with one of the scribes. She’s been plenty chummy with them.</p><p>“The other knights have noticed and are talking about it. For both your sakes, you should try to get her behavior under control.”</p><p>Danse shakes his head slowly.</p><p>“You can deny it all you want. Where do you think she is?”</p><p>“The gantries,” he sighs and is rewarded with an incredulous look. “She doesn’t like sleeping near other people.  I found her on the forecastle one night and ordered her not to sleep out there again. I don’t believe she has forgiven me yet.”</p><p>“What the hell! Are you serious?”</p><p>He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again. The marksmanship (not that she needs it), the Brotherhood history, the tactics, that’s what he was signing up for when he agreed to be her sponsor. Not monitoring her sleeping behaviors. And not dealing with some of his brothers’ and sisters’ strangely hostile reactions to her. “Affirmative. You can help me look if you want, Paladin Gikopoulou. It would make this go more quickly.”</p><p>Gikopoulou agrees, Danse suspects, because she doesn’t expect Howard to be in the gantries and either wants to see how long it takes him to admit he made it up, or see his face when he realizes he’s wrong.</p><p>It takes about ten minutes for him to find the dark nest of a blanket in the metalwork by the gasbags.</p><p>“Howard!” Danse barks and is rewarded with a slight shift in the lump.</p><p>“How the hell did she even get up there?” Gikopoulou says.</p><p>“You need to sleep in your bunk, Knight!”</p><p>She finally turns over and turns on her pipboy light. Green light washes across Danse’s face and he can barely make out her dark form above. “You can’t order me to do that,” her voice is mild, belying the aggressiveness of shining her light in his face.</p><p>“I can order you not to sleep up there, soldier.”</p><p>“I’m not on the forecastle, isn’t that enough, Danse?”</p><p>“Why won’t you sleep in the knights’ barracks, Howard?”</p><p>There’s a long, tense pause in which the only sounds are the normal hum of the ship around them.  </p><p>“The sleeping arrangements aren’t what I’m used to,” Knight Howard says, finally tilting the pipboy down to stop blinding them. </p><p>“At least you’re not on the ground in some shitty little settlement, Knight. Like Goodneighbor,” Gikopoulou says. “I heard that place is a cesspool.”</p><p>“The mayor of Goodneighbor killed a man for threatening me my first day there.”</p><p>Beside him Gikopoulou bristles, but the words hit Danse like a punch in power armor. Has he neglected his duties to her in some manner? He brought her somewhere that was supposed to be safe, but she’s acting as on edge as she did on an active battlefield.</p><p>“Not that I needed it,” she continues airily. “But the shitty little settlements have their perks.”</p><p>“Howard, you aggravated your wounds in Fort Strong. You need to recover, not spend your nights climbing the gantries.”</p><p>“Danse, I’m not sleeping in that bunk. You can order me to lie in it for eight hours if it’ll make the other paladins happy, but I won’t sleep.”</p><p>Gikopoulou scoffs, perhaps slightly embarrassed at being called out. Danse can’t tell. But he hopes she will at least spread the word that Howard didn’t join the Brotherhood just to immediately bunk-up with the scribes.</p><p>“I tackled Elder Maxson this morning, remember? I should not be around other people.”</p><p>“Can’t you pass out in a chair by your workbench like a normal Knight?” Danse says almost plaintively.</p><p>Chouko can’t escape. She signed up for this, but they don’t let any old Knight, especially a new, unproven one, look at their maps, or play with their radar systems, or comms, and the bridge is always manned. They don’t have the redundancy that a Pre-War system would have, so there’s no way to get access without someone knowing what she’s doing. Which means she has to earn it.</p><p>She sighs and tries to rally, but it gets harder each day, and the feelings of despair are less easy to suppress. Without the constant motion of the wasteland, the unending stream of threats and issues to resolve, she has hours to herself to think, and her mind isn’t what is used to be. Chouko rolls up the blanket and tosses it down, then lowers herself before dropping the last few feet to the metal walkway with a clang.</p><p>The paladins look at her as if she just jumped out of a shadow and she doesn’t know if that’s just how these Brotherhood types always look or if she’s done something inhuman again.</p><p>“Chair by workbench. Got it,” she says, then belatedly adds a salute. She hears them muttering after she’s past but doesn’t have the energy to listen in.</p><p>Danse comes by later, doing his damndest to be sneaky, but moving quietly isn’t a skill taught in the Brotherhood. Chouko pretends to be asleep while he watches her from across the room. After less than a minute, he moves on, hopefully relieved that she’s acting more like a normal Knight.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Everything seems fine. All the engine systems are good, nothing’s on radar, and they’re keeping it low and fast in an attempt to get to the next base without being detected. The Chairman hates that she’s out on the frontline, but they have a new weapons system to deploy and the Chinese know it. She doesn’t trust anyone else with her pet project, and the Americans will hold her personally responsible if anything goes wrong.</p><p>“Why don’t you do right,” Vasquez sings, picking up where Chouko left off and flicking the back of Howard’s neck as he swats at her, “like some other men do?”</p><p>There isn’t a radar blip.</p><p>None of the warning systems trigger.</p><p>The only reason Chouko pushes the bird down and over is because she faintly senses human life outside of the aircraft. Even that isn’t enough to save them from the impact.  </p><p>Her ears ring and the cold wind whips her hair into her face, along with snow and acrid smoke. She’s still strapped into the pilot’s seat, only the seat is no longer attached to the vertibird.</p><p>Fire crackles behind her. A piece of jagged metal sails past her head, slicing off part of the seat and probably some of her hair.</p><p>She wrenches the straps apart and wriggles free, landing in a foot of loose snow over something more compact that gives slightly under her weight. Chouko struggles to her feet, wiping blood from her face and finds flaming wreckage scattered across the tundra. She pulls the knife from her belt and runs towards it.</p><p>Vasquez’s mangled body still sits in her seat, impaled on scrap, blood everywhere. The sight turns Chouko’s stomach. Moments ago the woman had been signing. A moan drags Chouko’s attention a few feet away, to a tangle of metal and snow smeared with black and red marks. Chouko wades through the snow, conscious of the compression under each step. Okoye lies entwined with the remnant of his seat, his arm bent unnaturally and the smell of blood heavy in the air. Chouko crouches and cuts the last straps of his harness away, tosses the scrap from his legs as he tries to say her name. He has children, and she’d promised him he’d see them again.</p><p>They need to get to cover. They need medical attention. They’re shit out of luck. Chouko rises, the soldier over her shoulder, and spots Nate, limping through the snow, his side arm in his hand. Wind whips his shouts away from him.</p><p>She feels the stealthed bird coming around for another pass.</p><p>“Howard!” she screams.</p><p>And realizes she’s screaming, sitting up in her chair, in the middle of Proctor Ingram’s work bay. Echoes of some dropped tool bounce back to her and her eyes meet a shocked aspirant a few stations away. Chouko’s heart pounds in her chest and sweat slicks her palms and neck. Proctor Ingraham looks like she’s about to come over and tell Chouko to keep it down. They’re in Massachusetts, not Alaska.</p><p>And Nate is dead.</p><p>She bolts from the chair and across the room, barely keeping her pace at an acceptable level. She barrels past uniform after uniform, some people call greetings but she can’t—she can’t deal with any of it. She slides down the nearest ladder and tumbles out onto the flight deck.</p><p>Chouko needs to be outside, away from everyone, or as far away as she can get.</p><p>Nate is dead, and it’s her fault.</p><p>She runs down the length of the ship, past scribes and lancers going about their tasks. Finally, she finds an almost empty spot and sinks to the grating. She doesn’t cry, just lays there, trying not to think, trying not to feel.</p><p>Danse finds her. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to her for a while. A hand lands on her shoulder briefly, then, with a breath, he gets to his feet and walks away.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Chouko dreads meals on the Prydwen.  There’s always an argument with the cook about what counts as meat and her right to food that doesn’t have any in it. If she sits with them, the scribes pepper her with questions about the old world, which would be fine if they didn’t always find the most painful topics. ‘What was childcare like?’ ‘How did anyone allow the corporations become so powerful?’</p><p>The knights are a mixed bag, some are friendly enough while others clearly resent her quick promotion or have heard unflattering rumors about her dramatic entrance into Cambridge. The lancers ignore her, like they ignore all non-flyboys.</p><p>That evening she chooses a half empty table, with only a couple lancers engaged in a heated argument about flying without instruments at the other end, intending to down her food and escape to some dark corner of the ship. She aches from the battering the mutants gave her the day before and from the memories with which her mind has decided to plague her attempts to sleep.</p><p>When a couple of other knights join her, she nods an acknowledgement and keeps eating. Until the man, Knight Charles, gives her tray a push to the side. Chouko takes a slow breath and decides not to play this game. She’s had centuries of games, and she would really like a break. She ignores the half-eaten food and finishes her water while the two of them watch her.</p><p>“Not gonna eat anymore?” the woman, Knight Emmett, says, pushing the tray further away.</p><p>“I don’t know how any of you have survived this long on that garbage,” Chouko shoots back. “Maybe its because none of you has any taste.”</p><p>They chuckle without any humor. She knows they’re not done. If she gets up and walks away, it’ll only encourage them. At least here there are witnesses to moderate their behavior. She’d hate to end up in the brig for accidentally killing these fools after they try to jump her in a dark hallway.  </p><p> “You’re Howard,” Knight Charles says, and Chouko steels herself. “So why were you screaming your own name in your sleep?”</p><p>Play nice, she tells herself on repeat. “Howard is my married name,” she says as if talking to a slow child. “It was my husband’s name.”</p><p> “And what happened to him?” Knight Emmett says, smirk playing on her face. “Leave you for some Goodneighbor whore? Is that what’s got you all—” </p><p>Chouko is across the table before either of the humans blinks, tackling Emmett to the floor. The woman coughs and gasps for air as Chouko’s hand closes over her throat. The knight’s hands come up, grabbing at Chouko’s arm, pushing, scrabbling like an ape in the dirt, ineffectual and weak.</p><p>The woman tries to twist away, to buck her off, but Chouko has at least a hundred pounds on her and the cold determination to punish.  She’s convinced herself these things are people—most of the time. Isn’t that the cause of half the trouble, the short lives of mortals and the implacable drives of the things that become attached to them?</p><p>Humans think, they feel, they have brief, hard, firefly lives and somehow they still make art. They’re not the playthings of their betters, or disposable, easily replaceable pets. She only kills them when she feels she has to. </p><p>Until something like this happens.</p><p><em>Which finger to break first? </em>She thinks as she slips her index finger around the woman’s pinkie. The face under her grip is red and puffy. Knight Charles makes a grab for her shoulder, to pull her off his friend, but she’s faster and ducks. He steadies himself for another attempt and Chouko uses the opportunity to deliver a swift punch to his shin that sends him sprawling on the floor, crying out in pain.  </p><p>“Whoa there!” Hands grasp her arm, pulling firmly up, though they don’t budge her. “Don’t you know this isn’t how hazing works?”</p><p>Chouko’s fingers slacken as she realizes she’s in the middle of the mess hall, with people pushing themselves to their feet all around her and staring. A ragged gasp comes from the woman beneath her. Chouko’s eyes follow the hands on her arm up to the face of one the lancers who’d been sitting nearby. Long dark lashes frame rich brown eyes, which seem suspiciously friendly given the circumstances.</p><p>“They think they’re supposed to give you a hard time, since you’re a wastelander and they’re born Brotherhood,” he says, still exerting steady pressure on her arm. “And you’re supposed to sit there and pout about it because you’re still a soft civilian. Idiots don’t realize there’s a reason the Commonwealth has been kicking our asses.”</p><p>Chouko releases her grip and allows the man to pull her to her feet and away from the knight.  </p><p>“Jesus, Howard,” Knight Charles mutters as he helps Emmett to sit up, “can’t you take a joke?”</p><p>Emmett gasps, hands on her throat. Wide, reddened eyes staring at Chouko accusingly.</p><p>A joke? That’s all Nate’s life is to these people? Then their meager lives are bigger jokes, because at least Nate meant something. </p><p>“My husband was murdered by the Institute. They made me watch. And they mocked me for being helpless to stop them. So, no, I can’t, and you had better remember that.”     </p><p>There’s a frozen pause like they never actually bothered to ask anyone else what happened. For all the gossip going around about her day-to-day, no one has any of the backstory. Haylen and Danse are too polite to talk. Rhys would love the opportunity to paint her in a bad light, but he’s not a liar. Everything else must be invented by people she’s barely spoken to. </p><p>“Still,” Knight Charles pushes on, “you can’t just—”</p><p>“<em>Can’t</em>?” Chouko’s voice comes out cold and full of warning. “Or you’d really prefer if I didn’t? That’s an important distinction, Knight, one it would serve you to remember.” At this moment she’d like to show him just what she can do. How with a twist of her wrist she could steal the breath from his lungs, crush—but not anymore.</p><p>“Knight Howard, right?”</p><p>Chouko is ready to snap at the lancer who’s still holding her arm. He tilts his head and his arm slips around her shoulders.</p><p>“I’ve heard you’re Pre-War, knight. I don’t suppose there’s a chance you know anything about Pre-War birds?”</p><p>“Actually,” Chouko forces the tension out of her muscles.  For a second she contemplates the pain in her weakened body, refocusing her anger on herself and her shortcomings. Gita would have never ended up in this situation. But Gita’s probably dead all the same.</p><p>At this moment Chouko needs to get away, and if possible, off this ship.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Danse receives the report from a nervous aspirant, who quakes in his slightly oversized uniform while relaying that Danse’s newest knight—his first sponsored wastelander—has been fighting in the mess hall. At first Danse doesn’t follow. Then he has trouble believing.</p><p>“You’re certain it was Knight Howard?” he says, voice booming in the narrow metal halls.</p><p>“Sir,” the aspirant can barely meet his eyes, “yes sir. Something about her husband, sir.”</p><p>The aspirant hands over instructions from Maxson. The pit in Danse’s stomach makes itself felt again. He never expected bringing Howard into the fold would cause more trouble. He remembers her smiling, strolling into the police station with that reporter friend of hers, and then the image quickly vanishes, replaced by her blood streaked face set in a glower as she pulled off the helmet of her power armor and sat on an outstretched leg of the dead behemoth.</p><p>Once the aspirant vanishes around a turn in the hall, Danse opens the letter. Maxson’s orders repeat the facts briefly and without embellishment. Danse is informed Paladin Wright has been instructed to discipline his knights, and Danse is instructed to do likewise. The ever-present headache returns with a vengeance as Danse tucks the orders into his desk drawer and goes in search of his knight.</p><p>Finding her below decks, where he has instructed her not to spend her free time, irritates him, but finding her surrounded by a group of lancers turns the headache from a dull throb into a pounding in his temples.  The voices and laughter die as they all spot him and an uneasy silence settles on the room.</p><p>As Howard pushes herself to her feet and heads towards him, several of the flyboys pat her shoulders and back and murmur encouragement. From what he’s just read, Howard lunged across a table and choked out a sister knight and knocked down another knight who tried to intervene. The lancers should have been reprimanding her, not encouraging her.</p><p>Howard takes a long breath and stops before him, eyes flicking up to his face and then dipping. She stands at attention, looking for all the world like a penitent sinner. Danse wishes he could believe she really was.</p><p>“I have received a report about your behavior, Howard.”</p><p>She nods.</p><p>“Your actions are not just disappointing me, you’re disappointing the Brotherhood. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”</p><p>She sighs and looks up at him. Not for the first time, Danse worries he could sink into her dark eyes. He quickly quashes the feeling, hardening his expression to cover the momentary lapse.</p><p>“I lost control. It’s embarrassing enough on its own. But I’ve embarrassed you, and that makes it far worse.”</p><p>“Do you regret choking Knight Emmett?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.</p><p>Her lips purse and she looks him over before shrugging. “Would you regret hitting someone who asked you if Knight Keane had run off with a Goodneighbor whore and abandoned the squad?”</p><p>Danse’s gut clenches as the image of Keane’s broken body on the ground in Cambridge flashes before his eyes. She said it not meaning it—but it still—Danse lets out a breath. No, he wouldn’t regret hitting someone with the gall to say that to his face.</p><p>“Guard duty, on the flight deck starting at 06:00 instead of your free mornings for the next week,” he says instead of answering. “Let the knights you’re relieving know in advance.”</p><p>“Thanks, paladin,” Howard says with a faint smile and brushes his arm before returning to the cluster of lancers.   </p><p>Danse gives himself a shake and returns to his quarters to take something for his head.  It has nothing to do with escaping the lingering feeling of her hand on his arm. </p><p>Three days later he can’t find her. He’s checked the bunks, the mess, the workshop, even grilled the scribes in the lab, who swore she wasn’t hiding in one of the storage trunks <em>this time</em>, which was information he noted for later. Finally, after one too many times of Danse storming past, one of the scribes on the flight deck tells him: “I saw your knight go off with a lancer.” She nods towards an empty vertibird dock and shrugs.</p><p>Howard wouldn’t have gone AWOL, it isn’t possible, so, something else must be going on. Danse trudges down to the command deck to try to get a word in with Kells.</p><p>It’s a mess of noise and movement on the bridge. Danse hovers, awkwardly, trying to catch the Captain’s attention as Kells checks readings and shouts for coffee. </p><p>“Copy that Command. This is Alpha Six Gamma reporting in,” the voice comes over the radio, soft and feminine and utterly infuriating. “All clear so far.”</p><p>Danse grabs the microphone from the Lancer. “Howard! What the hell are you doing on a vertibird? What are you doing answering the radio?!”</p><p>“Paladin?” It comes out as a startled squeak, which is the only cold comfort Danse has in the situation.</p><p>Kells is paying attention now, much to Danse’s annoyance because he’d like to chew her out, but he doesn’t want to chew her out in front of the whole flight deck.</p><p>“You are not authorized to go on any missions, Howard. Get back here immediately.”</p><p>“This is Lancer-Knight Rodriguez,” a man’s voice cuts in. “And that’s a negative Paladin. We have to finish the recon first.”</p><p>The reply only infuriates Danse more, and his fists clench as he tries to master his anger before responding. He hears a smirk in the man’s voice that he’d be happy to remove. Before he can say anything, Kells lifts the microphone from his hand.</p><p>“Rodriguez, would you care to explain what Knight Howard is doing on your bird?”</p><p>“Sir!” Now the Lancer-Knight sounds nervous. Danse imagines Kells’ tone has wiped the smirk off his face. “The Knight isn’t on the duty roster for another two hours. Right?”</p><p>There’s an “um-hm” from Howard.</p><p>“She asked if she could accompany me and as it’s a recon patrol, I thought having another set of eyes would be an asset.”</p><p>“And you’re letting a Knight with no flight experience operate comms because—?” Kells continues, the disappointment radiating from each word. Danse has long admired Kells’ strict discipline and command of the Prydwen and feels a deep satisfaction in the Lancer-Captain’s ability to bring his crew in line without raising his voice.</p><p>“Sir—I apologize. We—she—” There’s some static, but it sounds like the lancer says something like “can I tell them?”</p><p>She browbeat him into it, Danse thinks. Or worse, she flicked her hair and smiled.</p><p>“I have flight experience, sir,” Howard says crisply. Danse can just imagine her expression, neutral with an eyebrow slightly raised. Somehow it’s more infuriating than if she argued.</p><p>“Howard, being a passenger in a pre-War commercial flight is not the same thing.”</p><p>There’s an odd noise from the other end, then some static.</p><p>“Sir,” it’s Rodriguez’s voice again, which makes Danse nervous. “She has pilot experience.”</p><p>There is a sudden pause on the flight deck. Kells is about to say something else, when Howard clears her throat and says:</p><p>“Pre-War. So I admit I am a bit out of date. Rodriguez has been kind enough to explain this model bird to me.”   </p><p>Danse feels the burn of people looking at him. He should have known. Why didn’t he know? Why did this Lancer-Knight know? Why the hell does this pre-War woman with her house and car and dead husband and baby have experience piloting vertibirds?</p><p>“And where—” Kells’ sarcastic tone comes across strained, “did you do this Pre-War piloting since my understanding was that you were a civilian?”</p><p>“They were not only military vehicles, Lancer Captain,” she replies after a pause.</p><p>A long pause. Danse realizes this isn’t just something she was hiding, this is one of those difficult things she can’t really bring herself to talk about. Danse fits the little pieces of information she’s dropped together, realizing why she was so upset about the vertibird crash she witnessed, why she seemed so personally offended by it. <em>Alaska</em>, he thinks. She was a civilian on the front line who was well prepared for the terrain. He wouldn’t have expected any less from her.</p><p> “Still,” Kells says. “This is highly irregular. Rodriguez, you should have cleared it with a superior first.”</p><p>“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir,” the lancer is crisp and professional and has somehow managed to escape the dressing down Danse feels he deserves. </p><p>“Shit!” Fear laces Howard’s voice. “What the hell is that?!”</p><p>“What?” Rodriguez barks back. “I see it!”</p><p>Then the comms go dead.</p><p>“Alpha Six Gamma come in.” The lancer in front of Danse flicks switches, twists knobs and tries again.</p><p>Fire burns in Danse’s chest. After a moment he draws a breath, realizing the pain was him holding it. His stomach churns as the silence drags on. This is the worst part. Worse than being pinned down in a firefight, is having to sit helpless too far away to be of any use when his brothers and sisters are in distress. His mind is dragged down into the dark thoughts always circling below the surface as the lancer before him switches frequencies and keeps trying. </p><p>Another knight, possibly injured, possibly—he won’t admit that possibility yet.</p><p>The radio crackles and Rodriguez’s voice says: “Alpha Six Gamma reporting in. Sorry about that command, we hit some turbulence.”</p><p>Turbulence is so unlikely a cause of a comms outage as to be laughable, but no one challenges the lancer on the statement.</p><p>Danse waits on the landing deck as the bird pulls in to dock. He doesn’t run, but he does stride quickly down the length of the Prydwen towards the bird. The metal siding is pock-marked, not from gunshots, Danse realizes as he gets closer, but acid spray. The lancer is the first person he sees, dark haired and handsome, grinning as he pushes open the door. No wonder Howard was drawn to him. The thought prickles.</p><p>The man balks at the sight of Danse coming towards him and retreats into the back of the vertibird. Knight Howard watches him go in surprise, her hand on the door. She seems as calm and unruffled as possible for someone in a vertibird with a partially melted tail.</p><p>Until she turns around and spots Danse. Danse is close enough to see the flash of panic, and it looks like she’s about to copy the lancer and try to hide. He closes the last few feet too quickly and grabs her collar as she’s trying to climb through the vertibird.</p><p>“What are you doing?” she demands as he pulls her forward and she lands unsteadily on the deck. “Danse?”</p><p>He’s not entirely sure. He’s never been good at these kinds of things. So he hauls her further towards the bow so at least no one else will hear him mucking up this dressing down. </p><p>“What were you thinking?”</p><p>“It was just routine recon!”</p><p>“Then why did you scream?”</p><p>She straightens and tries to push his hand away, but he won’t let go. “Neither of us was expecting a mirelurk queen.”</p><p>The bottom drops out of Danse’s stomach. He thinks he feels it hit the ground below.</p><p>“You’re joking.”</p><p>“Not when you’re in this kind of mood,” she shoots back.</p><p>“It’s as if you were determined to put yourself in danger. Why can’t you stay where it’s safe?”</p><p>“With all due respect, <em>sir</em>, that attitude wouldn’t make me a very good field officer. Unless you’re trying to suggest I’d be better off as a scribe?” Somehow she always manages to make ‘sir’ sound like an insult. And find the exact thing to make him feel off-footed. He releases her and steps back.</p><p>“I’m not saying anything of the sort. But you—” But he can’t protect her when she runs off on reconnaissance missions with cocky lancers.</p><p>“Howard, that was great work today!”</p><p>The lancer is back, apparently having decided to brave Danse now that he has a gaggle of other flyboys with him. The paladin bites off his next words but doesn’t care to stop his glare as they surround her and start clapping her on the back.</p><p>“Drinks on me!” Rodriguez calls out. He slings an arm around Howard’s shoulders, pulling her away from Danse, and she grins. “In honor of my second set of eyes!”</p><p>Danse realizes he has to get Knight Howard off the Prydwen or he just might lose her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m trying out some longer chapters. And spending more time in Danse's head.  Poor Danse, he really has no idea what he's gotten himself into yet, Chouko has no tolerance for dogma.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Sanctuary Hills June 2088</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes two days to make the request, put it through the right channels and send the follow-ups. Then Danse and Howard find themselves in front of Elder Maxson again. As Maxson paces before them Danse tries to pretend he doesn’t see the circles under the younger man’s eyes. The beard ages him, but today the slightly hollowed cheeks have a more dramatic effect.</p><p>Without a steady supply line, they’re reliant on the Prydwen’s onboard supplies and what they can gather locally. Danse tried to warn them before they set out that the situation in the Commonwealth was tough. He knew Maxson had made the best preparations possible, but, even so, Danse had been in the paladin-level briefings on fuel conservation and food stores.</p><p>Maxson clears his throat and Danse’s mind snaps back to the present.</p><p> “The Institute has managed to keep itself hidden for a number of years, but it's only a matter of time before we find them. Unfortunately, they’re still shrouded in mystery, but there must be more clues out there in the Commonwealth.”</p><p>Knight Howard’s hands tighten on the sheaf of papers she’d been handed before the meeting—a summary of all the Brotherhood’s intelligence on the Institute gathered over the past ten years.</p><p>“Knight Howard, you had a vested interest in locating the Institute before we met, so I'm confident you'll travel in the right circles. I want you to get out there and become our eyes and ears on the ground and help us locate the Institute. Paladin Danse will accompany you. A small team will allow you to be nimble and responsive.”</p><p>Danse perks up, pleased that the Elder has accepted his full proposal. He’ll get Howard off the Prydwen and still be able to keep an eye on her. The two of them are meant to be in the field.</p><p>Chouko tries not to frown. Finally, she’ll escape this floating prison, but no better off than she arrived. The scribes and lancers wanted to be helpful, Rodriguez in particular was ready to bend over backwards for her, but the Brotherhood has stayed well clear of the Glowing Sea and are only starting to compile information on it.</p><p>The Brotherhood’s information on the Institute is useful background, but there’s nothing in it she hasn’t already determined or guessed.  Other than the fact that the Institute apparently has one of their scientists, recruited right out from under them with the promise of a dedicated research lab. </p><p>A couple lost weeks she can accept, but she’ll be worse off if Danse is going to trail her spouting Brotherhood propaganda.  That little rant about a synth-based armageddon had wiped away a number of pleasant illusions she’d indulged herself with. She thinks of Nick’s hand on hers as the Prydwen sailed overhead. “Elder, it might be better if I go on my own.”</p><p>The words ring in Danse’s ears. His face falls. Not even two weeks in and she’s already tired of him. He’d felt—what—some connection to her? Camaraderie. Apparently it was one-sided.</p><p>Maxson eyes them both. “And why would that be, Knight?”</p><p>“Paladin Danse is level headed and practical on the battlefield,” Chouko means it, and she puts her feeling into it, but she’s not immune to the disappointment radiating from her paladin. “An asset to any fighting team. He’s unquestionably devoted to the cause and has a great deal of knowledge and competence with a variety of weapons. I couldn’t have asked for a better sponsor.”</p><p>Danse swallows bile; such a glowing review has never left him so bitter before.</p><p>“<em>But</em>?” Maxson prods.</p><p>“He’s tactless.”</p><p>Danse stares at her while Maxson tries to hide a chuckle. The Elder’s muffled snort only twists the knife in the Paladin’s side.</p><p>Chouko turns to Danse. Her expression is pleasant and earnest and in no way reflects the rejection she just heaped on him. “This is nothing against you, Paladin, you know how much I respect you. But, you just don’t have a political bone in your body. I doubt you’ve ever told a white lie and your idea of a compliment is telling someone they’re an adequate shot.”</p><p>Maxson is laughing now. Proctor Teagan chuckles along. So Danse is the butt of all their jokes, and even Howard agrees.</p><p>Chouko doesn’t want to hurt the man, and for once she can read him, read the disappointment and wounded pride he’s trying to mask over. It turns her stomach. But gods, how can she go talk to Nick if Danse follows her around with a laser rifle trying to put down all synths? She misses Nick, his calm ability to talk her down from the edge of the abyss, his optimistic practicality. And she won’t endanger him. </p><p>Danse tries to hide his wounded pride. “I said you were an <em>excellent</em>shot.”</p><p>“Apparently you like me so much they promoted me straight to Knight. From my perspective, that came as a true shock.”</p><p>Danse can’t believe she doesn’t understand, doesn’t see how much he admires her and respects her as a soldier. He thought he’d been more than clear on that front. He starts to say something, but she turns back to Maxson.</p><p>“Goodneighbor is the second largest settlement in the Commonwealth with hundreds of residents. They do a great deal to keep roads open downtown that are free of raiders and mutants, and that is a tough task given the mutant nests in the rubble. It’s a hub of information, along with stolen goods and chems. Do any of you know what the most important rule is in Goodneighbor?”</p><p>Maxson looks at Teagan, who shakes his head.</p><p>“Sleep with one eye open,” Danse says. He’d been once. He’d seen enough.</p><p>Chouko shakes her head. “Don’t forget who’s in charge of Goodneighbor. Which would be Mayor Hancock, the ghoul.”</p><p>Danse cringes, and then he remembers her saying that the mayor of Goodneighbor killed one of his own to protect her on the day he met her.</p><p>Maxson’s toe taps and he glances between the two of them, evaluating, trying to look perfectly in command. “The Brotherhood tolerates sane ghouls among the civilian population, Knight. I don’t see the issue.”</p><p>“Tolerate? Sir, Hancock and I are close, personal friends, and he trusts me completely. Merely tolerating him wouldn’t have gotten me far.”  Slight lies, blurring the truth. Lying is easier by omission than outright falsehoods. Hancock trusts her so long as he knows their interests align. He’s far too smart to trust her if he knows they don’t. And they’ve both made efforts to keep their interests aligned. The ghoul also fears her, though that just adds depth to his flirting.</p><p>The men all look disgusted.</p><p>“As a result,” Chouko pushes on, trying to make them see that there’s more to this than the biggest laser rifle, “I can shoot someone in the street in Goodneighbor. And his response to me was to tell me either make sure it wasn’t traced back to me, or take out anyone who might come looking for revenge.”</p><p>For a moment there’s silence. ‘His response was’ echoes in Danse’s head. “You what?” he says, hoping he heard wrong. She’s killed people in settlements? And gotten away with it? </p><p>“It’s a long story. But I’m not bringing you anywhere near Goodneighbor if you’re going to call their mayor a filthy ghoul or offend the pre-War ghoul who runs the general store. She gives me a great discount on ammo.”</p><p>Proctor Teagan interjects, “<em>I</em>give you a discount on ammo!”</p><p>Maxson looks at Teagan in surprise. “You give her a discount, proctor?”</p><p>Teagan flusters. “Elder,” he says, making an abortive gesture at Chouko—at Chouko’s appropriately sized and yet still not fully zipped up uniform. “The knight is very persuasive.” </p><p>“Elder,” Chouko shifts her weight forward slightly, slides one arm in a way that emphasizes the effect, and takes a deep breath that convinces her zipper it is slightly too high.  She watches three sets of eyes dip, one pair of lips compress, but only Danse reddens. “I don’t pay full price for anything.”</p><p>Maxson clears his throat and looks out over the city as if turning away from her will save him from her.  She thinks if she were younger, he would truly be in trouble. An ancient memory surfaces, rough-hewn timbers, the smell of hay and sweat, flickering firelight. Draping herself across a wooden throne as silk slid along her legs and gold bangles tinkled on her ankles.  “Build me a temple worthy of me,” she’d once said in a long-dead language. “Prove your devotion.”</p><p>That had been a different woman. Long ago.</p><p>Maxson’s voice snaps her back to the present.</p><p> “You’re only reinforcing my decision, Knight Howard. You can introduce Paladin Danse to areas the Brotherhood has not been able to access and maybe teach him some tact along the way.”</p><p>Danse doesn’t speak to her as they’re dismissed.  He doesn’t know what to say.</p><p>He packs for a long mission on the road and tries to take comfort in knowing the Prydwen will only be a signal grenade away, but Howard’s words and Maxson’s amusement eat away at him.</p><p>Danse was technically eligible for star paladin two years ago. Arthur has told him more than once that he is one of the best field officers the Brotherhood has. Leading Recon Team Gladius had been the quickest path Danse could see to his next promotion, not to mention a chance to find Knight Astlin and bring her and the rest of her team home.</p><p>Green eyes and freckles, the dimple in one cheek—he fights the intrusive thought. After what he’s seen of the Commonwealth, he has very little hope left for Recon Squad Artemis.</p><p>He pushes those thoughts away and others crop up to replace them, nag at him. Others have made the jump to star paladin in less time. He’s always known it was about more than his knowledge of the codex and successful missions, but the need to smooth talk others has always seemed like a waste of his time when there were important missions to run. </p><p>His mind is still on this dark path when he meets Howard on the flight deck again. She tosses her bag aboard and leaps up, nimble as a radstag and apparently having decided to forgo her power armor.</p><p>“Your armor,” Danse says as he pulls himself aboard.</p><p>“With the fusion cores we have,” she tells him, “it’s better if we only have one suit. Combat armor suits me better anyway.”</p><p>She straps in easily, as if she’s done this a million times, and Danse is painfully reminded of how little he knows about his knight. His knight who has strong feelings about vertibird tactics and potentially more flight hours than a number of Brotherhood pilots.</p><p>Thankfully their pilot isn’t Rodriguez, but even Danse isn’t immune to the uncomfortable silence as the bird drops free of its berth and zips low over the water.</p><p>They can’t complete the mission like this. Danse tells himself that’s why he clears his throat and gestures for her to switch to a private channel. Not because his ego needs soothing. “So you think I’m tactless,” is his tactful way of broaching the subject.</p><p>Knight Howard seems unruffled by the comment, fixing him with her dark eyes. At the moment he wishes her sunglasses had survived the deathclaw. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I didn’t think either of you would take me seriously unless I was blunt.”</p><p>Even with his helmet, Danse can’t meet that bottomless gaze. He directs his attention out the window, watching the small homesteads and piles of rubble sweep beneath them. “My feelings don’t come into it. It isn’t safe for you to travel alone.”</p><p>“Paladin, you’re not political. I suspect you’re proud of that fact.”</p><p>Of course he’s proud of it. Politics is for proctors and civilians and people too weak to protect themselves, not for soldiers. He returns his attention to his knight, who smiles slightly, as if caught doing something embarrassing.</p><p>“Unfortunately, I am very political,” she says.</p><p>There’s the old world pushing through again. Danse thinks about the wreckage all around them and how it was caused by greed and politics. He supposes it makes sense that someone from that world would still think of herself that way, but he’d hoped the Brotherhood could help Knight Howard past all that.</p><p>“Is it really necessary? I don’t see why more issues can’t be solved with plain conversation.”</p><p> Her smile turns wry. “And guns?” She sighs and settles back in her seat, watching the Commonwealth go by. “Paladin, I don’t think you understand this about me yet, but I <em>hate</em>fighting. As a result, I try to talk my way out of things, which requires being political. One might even call it lying.</p><p>“Once you’re in a fight, you’ve already made errors. Every fight you enter is a chance for you and your allies to get injured or killed.”</p><p>“But you’re an excellent shot,” he protests. The woman was made to fight, even if she doesn’t recognize it. “Your tactical senses are well-honed. If you were less skittish, you’d—” He stops at the sight of her face, lips twisted into a humorless smile.  </p><p>“Violence is a last resort, but because I consider it a last resort, I have to be damn good at it.”</p><p>“Hmm, I’ve never thought of it quite that way before.”</p><p>It’s a clear day, blue skies and scattered cirrus clouds, the hum of the engine drowning out the sounds of the outside world. As the clustered houses and familiar wall come into sight, Chouko feels a swell of relief almost as strong as the one that hit her when the vertibird undocked from the Prydwen.  They land in the fallow field by the river in Sanctuary and she wastes no time jumping down. A heavy, ground-shaking thud follows as Danse lands and the bird begins to lift off.</p><p>The town is beginning to get built up. Turrets sprouts from roofs and the wall, armed minutemen patrol the streets. Farmers and traders are out and about in the little marketplace. No trading is happening at the moment, it’s like the entire settlement has taken a deep breath and turned its attention towards them.</p><p>A familiar hat bobs into view, followed at a slight distance by others. Preston jogs towards them, gun at the ready, but the moment he spots Chouko, he breaks into a mad dash.</p><p>“General!!” he shouts. “Where have you been?”</p><p>He stops short and salutes, remembering himself, but his expression isn’t quite under control. Relief, panic, and undeniable strain fill the lines of his face. “We’ve been sending patrols all over the Commonwealth looking for you! The last you were spotted was in the Cambridge ruins three weeks ago. Where have you been?!”</p><p>Chouko knows that expression. Knows what comes after. She extends her arms and smiles faintly, knowing that the others will be with them in a minute. “I’m glad you’re ok too. Bring it on in, buddy.”</p><p>Preston grabs her and crushes her in a hug, burying his face in her shoulder. His arms tremble as she hugs him back. His fingers dig into the thin fabric of her useless Brotherhood uniform and her keen hearing picks up the faint noises he’s trying not to make as he takes quick, sharp breaths.</p><p>“I was so worried about you,” he chokes out. “What would we do without you? Everything would fall apart again.”</p><p>She shoots Danse a friendly smile over her shoulder, trying to head off any outburst from that direction. He stares back at her, eyes widened and brows furrowed.</p><p>Not good.</p><p>Danse is rooted to the spot by the display. Is this what passes for discipline among the Minutemen? A proper interaction with a superior officer? Danse has never hugged a superior, and the closest with a subordinate was when Haylen collapsed on him. Now Howard is enveloped in this toy soldier’s arms, half obscured by the folds of the man’s coat, his face buried in her neck so much that his hat has dislodged and fallen to the ground.</p><p>Other Minutemen approach at a jog and she waves them over with one hand. And then, to Danse’s increasing horror, they all hug her. A little cheer goes up and the crowd jumps up and down a bit while chanting “General! General!”</p><p>“After duty drinks on me!” Chouko calls and the group begins to disperse somewhat.</p><p>A superior officer carousing with the troops—Danse has to remind himself this isn’t an army, it’s a bunch of farmers.</p><p>“Thanks,” Preston says into her shoulder, his voice thick.</p><p>“I’ve got you,” she tells him, patting his back as he ducks to grab his fallen hat. None of the others notice him wipe his scarf across his eyes before rising.</p><p>“I don’t know what we would have done if anything had happened to you, General.”</p><p>“Look, I was out of commission for a couple weeks and you took care of everything just fine without me. You need to have more faith in yourself.”</p><p>Preston straightens and shakes his head. “I’m not a leader. You are. And—out of commission—“ His voice catches and his reddened eyes go to Danse. “Did these Brotherhood guys hurt you?”</p><p>Danse glares and starts forward. “Now see here, Minuteman—“</p><p>“A deathclaw got the drop on me and they were kind enough to fix me up. I even got a tour of their airship.” She makes a brief introduction while her heart sinks as the two men glare at each other.</p><p>“Knight Howard is a valuable addition to our ranks.” It’s true, and Danse would be proud to say the same to anyone, but he can’t deny the slight satisfaction he gets from knowing it will take the wind out of this fake soldier’s sails. She’s chosen the Brotherhood, as he always knew she would.  </p><p>Preston’s face twists and he looks to Chouko for confirmation. “General, what is he saying? You joined them? But you’re—“</p><p>Headache after headache, will nothing ever go her way?</p><p>“Preston, otnay in tfronay the adinpalay.” </p><p>“Understood.”</p><p>Preston’s never looked at her like she might be a monster, despite all of the very clear openings and demonstrations she given him. He treats her almost like some sacred thing, with a reverence that she doesn’t feel she’s earned. Yet it resonates deep within her. Chouko knows whenever she says ‘trust me,’ he does. He believes in her.</p><p>Danse doesn’t have time to press her for an explanation as Dogmeat comes running. He leaps into her arms and she clutches him to her chest, cooing over the creature. He’s followed by Sturges whose easy smile is still in place despite what must have been a tense time.</p><p>“Good to see you’re ok.” He claps Preston on the shoulder and winks. “Our buddy here was having quite the week.”</p><p>“Preston, I’ve been gone for long periods before!” Sometimes she thinks he needs reminding that walking back and forth across the state while dodging the hazards of the wastes isn’t exactly fast and radio access can be intermittent.</p><p>Preston twists one hand on the strap of his rife. “We got word from Diamond City to keep an eye out for you. Valentine was worried after whatever you two were doing in Goodneighbor. Said you weren’t yourself. He said you ran off with Hancock again but then he heard Hancock turned back up in Goodneighbor without you. And then it turned out no one had seen you for days, which turned into weeks.” Preston sighs in an attempt to put it all behind him, then turns to Danse. “Well now that you’ve brought her home, I suppose you’ll be on your way.”</p><p>Danse crosses his arms. He’s going to have to talk to Howard about these Minutemen. “I am traveling with Knight Howard for the foreseeable future. We are scouting the Commonwealth.”</p><p>“Looking for settlements to raid?”</p><p>Danse takes a half step forward, shaking the ground slightly with the impact of his armored foot. “What? How dare you—”</p><p>Chouko puts a hand on his power armor, pulling his attention down to her worried face. “Danse, this is what I was talking about before. Proctor Teagan is asking patrols to round up fresh food to spice up the rations, no questions asked. He said as much to me on our way out.”</p><p>Danse’s face falls. “That’s not the normal Brotherhood way. We’re here to win the hearts and minds of civilians.”</p><p>People in the crowd roll their eyes, but that’s not unexpected.  Wastelanders are often suspicious of offers of help and usually are right to be. </p><p>A Mister Handy comes floating briskly towards them as the remaining crowd begins to disperse. It still has all its limbs and looks freshly polished, if a little dinged up. “Ma’am, you’re back!” It calls and Danse realizes this is Howard’s robot, Howard’s pre-War robot that waited two hundred years for her return. “And—oh my, is that sir?”</p><p>Chouko freezes, mouth going slack. Preston and the mechanic both appear confused. Danse can’t place their expressions, especially not in response to the robot’s greeting. The Mister Handy bobs its eyes and keeps coming.</p><p>“Oh sir! It is so good to see you again! Ma’am thought you were dead, but I told her she only had to—“</p><p>Preston spins to face the robot and hold up his hands. “Codsworth, stop. This isn’t who you think it is.”</p><p>Danse looks around in confusion for the target of the robot’s attention while Chouko stares off blankly, brown eyes wide and unseeing. Everyone else seems to understand this robot’s bizarre proclamations but Danse has never met this robot before. Perhaps she told it of their first encounter at Cambridge and the robot recognized him by his power armor?</p><p>Codsworth reaches them, extends two eyes towards Danse and pulls back abruptly. “Oh! Excuse me, sir; I mistook you for the Major.”</p><p>“Codsworth!” Preston shouts. </p><p>Chouko drops her pack and just walks away from them all, into the fields surrounding the town. </p><p>The Major. Chouko’s robot. Telling her he wasn’t dead and to keep looking. Danse realizes with horror what’s happening and starts after Chouko, calling, “Knight, wait!”</p><p>Nothing is going to plan. And maybe he is tactless, but he knows he has to fix this.</p><p>Preston throws out a hand to stop him and shifts slightly into his path. “Don’t. Not when she’s like this. And <em>especially</em>not <strong>you</strong>.” He turns back to the robot as if Danse has ceased to exist. “Codsworth, how much does he look like Nate Howard?”</p><p>“Oh well, allowing for some dirt, and scratches, and that tacky design on his power armor—fairly similar. See for yourself.”  The robot reaches one arm up and opens a side compartment, which is shockingly crammed with detritus. A bent cardboard book, pieces of paper, something that looks like a sun-bleached ribbon, all wedged inside. It carefully extracts one of the pieces of paper which Danse realizes suddenly is a photograph of a couple in front of the Bunker Hill obelisk.</p><p>Sturges whistles while looking at the picture with Preston. “Well, I’ll be damned. Look at the legs on her!”  </p><p>Before Danse can move, the Minuteman has replaced the picture and snapped the compartment shut, shooting Danse a dirty look. “She still has those legs, Sturges.”</p><p>Sturges winks at Danse. Something to break the tension, he realizes and appreciates the mechanic’s attempt. </p><p>“Gentlemen, you’ll have to forgive me. After Mrs. Howard returned 210 years to the day of the War, it still seems possible that Major Nate might reappear as well. “</p><p>“She told you what happened,” Preston chides the robot, more gently than Danse would have in his place. From this conversation, it sounds like none of them have actually been down into the crypt of a vault to confirm everyone is dead, but Howard’s pain is too real to doubt. Still, it seems like a basic oversight on the part of someone styling himself Minuteman Colonel.</p><p>“Ma’am is quite fixated on death,” the robot drops its voice conspiratorially and Danse finds himself leaning in with the other men. Mentally he reprimands himself for going along with the absurdity, but he does it all the same, finding he wants to know more. “She’s told me quite a lot about the people who must be dead, her brother, her sisters, her—other family members. I had classed the Major amongst them. And with modern science, nothing is certain!”</p><p>Preston sighs and drags his hand down his face then takes a long look at Howard’s quickly diminishing form. She crests a ridge in the field of corn and disappears from sight.</p><p>“This is not what we need right now.”</p><p>“You act as if Knight Howard is mentally unstable,” Danse says. “You should have more faith in your commanding officer.” The mechanic claps Garvey on his shoulder and walks off as well, shaking his head.  They’re all acting like Danse is missing something important. He’s used to missing small things, unimportant social things, but nothing tactical, nothing actually relevant to the safety and well-being of his team.</p><p>“She’s the only thing I have faith in,” Preston tells him crisply. “But if you haven’t noticed that she can kinda go off the rails when she gets upset, then maybe there’s a reason your squad got pinned down by ferals.”</p><p>The words hit like a supermutant sledge, leaving Danse breathless and hurting.  As the Minuteman walks away, he presses an armored hand to his chest, but it does nothing to ease the tense pain in his breast. </p><p>~~~</p><p>As the afternoon heat rises up from the broken asphalt, Chouko sits on the roof of one of the still ramshackle houses, drinking whiskey from the bottle. The faint noises of someone moving around inside drift up to her, along with the harsh smell of grain alcohol. Maybe there’s some meaning behind the fact that their medic has taken up residence beneath one of her favorite perches.</p><p>Rustling and some heavy breathing drown out the fainter sounds and suddenly Preston heaves into view, climbing the fallen tree she uses as a ladder. He puffs his cheeks as he reaches the roof and plops down next to her. Chouko takes another swig and then hands him the bottle.</p><p>“Just give the word and I’ll take him out back and put a bullet in him.”</p><p>Chouko chokes and sprays booze everywhere. Horrified, she looks at Preston while wiping her mouth. His face his dead serious. Chouko can’t handle it, can’t handle any of it. Laughter burbles out, rising until it’s full-throated and shakes her whole body. She slumps against her Colonel in a fit of laughter, and he cracks a smile.</p><p>“But in all seriousness, I think the Brotherhood is bad news.”</p><p>Chouko wipes tears from her eyes while gasping for breath breathless. “I can manage them.”</p><p>“How many groups are you trying to balance at once? You can’t play everyone.” Preston keeps his tone neutral but he doesn’t have to raise his voice with her. Just like he doesn’t have to censor anything he says to her. They agreed early on, if they were going to make a go of rebuilding the Minutemen, they’d be honest with each other on the good and the bad.</p><p>Chouko sighs and stares out over the settlement.</p><p>Half the houses have been fully repaired, roofs fixed, walls patched, doors scavenged or built and hung in place. The settlers divided them up as they saw fit, some families sharing a house, others camping out while repairing their chosen abode or building from scratch in the areas marked as bad for farming. There’s a sign-up board by the workbenches so that no one hogs them for too long and the sound of hammering rings throughout the days. Other traders have followed Carla to town and the wall is almost complete.</p><p>The most important thing to almost everyone there is the security, with turrets on every repaired roof and regular Minuteman patrols around the perimeter and in the surrounding countryside.  It had taken an incredible exertion of willpower over dozens of disaffected people, frequent trips back with supplies she’d ripped out of robots and decaying buildings, and plenty of sleepless nights wielding power tools, but they’d come to heel under pressure and gotten to work when they saw actual progress being made. She’d even convinced the disgusting fools to make a proper trash dump, downwind and away from their water supply.</p><p>It strikes Chouko as funny to be proud of having corralled and directed, what, a hundred people in town and the surrounding farms, and a few dozen more at outlying settlements. A long time ago, and yet only a few years before, she’d wielded far more power with mere emails.</p><p>Pride goes before the fall. </p><p>“Once I could have,” she sighs, thinking of the various factions and their claims on her. “But I will be careful. They could be very valuable allies. They’ve got the best tech outside the Institute and are our best hope for getting in or even just having a chance against them.”</p><p>Preston lets out a humorless chuckle. “Then all we’ll have to worry about are the zealots with the flying gunships and power armor. Synths almost seem tame in comparison.”</p><p>“They really are zealots, Preston! I want all settlements to get more land under cultivation and expand our hydroponics. We need to be food independent, especially with the Brotherhood showing up without functioning supply lines. It’ll help us support more fulltime soldiers too.</p><p>“And I want you to increase the Minuteman presence at Greygarden. Those robots have a particularly rich strain of mutfruit and we can’t risk anything happening to it.”</p><p>“Agreed, General.”</p><p>“How’s our other little project going?”</p><p>“Well, so far. Sturges has a lot of the stuff he needs and our patrols are doing a good job of finding the rest. But it’s a big job to strip out all the truck’s rusted and faulty parts, so he says it’s going to take awhile.”</p><p>“Good. Well, while he’s working on that we can start spreading the power armor we’ve recovered around. I’d like to get at least a one at each settlement as soon as possible, and make sure that all our patrols keep an eye out for any more suits. Even if they can’t get to them, they should send an encrypted message tagging the location back to the Castle.”</p><p>Preston elbows her slightly, in a friendly way. “Ok, but what are you keeping in your personal reserve?”</p><p>Chouko sits up and glances around, just to make sure Danse isn’t in earshot. Stories about the Brotherhood’s greed for powerarmor were not exaggerated.</p><p>“Let’s keep the X-01 between you and me for now. Until I have more.”   </p><p>“Consider it done. General—“ He pauses. Weight hangs between them for a moment. Chouko sits up and looks at him. Preston swallows, and their pact on honesty wins out. “Don’t let appearances fool you.”</p><p>Late that evening, Chouko finally comes down from the roof. She wanders into the hollow remains of her house, still swilling whiskey from the bottle, and stops dead when she sees a familiar frame inside. Her heart thunders in her chest and her knees go weak. Panic and relief wash over her for a second.</p><p>But it’s wrong.</p><p>It’s Danse. Out of power armor. In the living room. Looking at the things on the bookshelf. He holds up a frame and looks at her, suspicious.</p><p>“You told me your name was Chouko, Knight. But this says—“</p><p>Bile hits the back of her throat. Her fingers clench around the bottle until she feels the give in the glass. It takes everything left in her not to throw it as his damn, interfering head. “If you’ll recall, I told you to <em>call me</em>Chouko. I never told you my name.”</p><p>She hasn’t told anyone her <em>name</em>in a very long time. She never even told Nate. Names are power and her name is too much power for a human to wield. </p><p>Danse sets down the diploma and looks her over. “Why?”</p><p>Chouko shrugs, pushing away the wave of memory, the feeling of the flaking siding under her hands, the pain in her abdomen, the dislocated fingers. Lying through omissions makes it easier to keep track. Chouko wasn’t a born liar, but the world had made her one. “New world, new name. Those first few days out, I would have thrown up if people were screaming ‘Nora’ at me. Then it stuck.”</p><p>Danse frowns. “I wish you’d told me.”</p><p>Her stomach roils at the thought of him calling her Nora. Better for him to have never learned it. </p><p>“What are you doing in here, <em>sir</em>?” </p><p>“Jun told me you don’t like people coming in here, but I—.</p><p>Anger flares up, overwhelming everything else, even the buzz of alcohol. She’d thought Danse tactless, but not cruel. “And you still—“</p><p>The paladin won’t meet her eyes, sweeping the room, looking everywhere but her. “I wanted to see for myself. This was the ideal pre-war dream wasn’t it? Television, car, Mr. Handy…”</p><p>Chouko’s eyes narrow and for once she doesn’t care about him seeing her angry. Once, her anger could have leveled towns. Now, all it does is cause some discomfort. “You were looking for pictures of him, weren’t you?”</p><p>There’s a tense pause where he can’t meet her eyes.</p><p>“Do I really look like your husband?”</p><p>Chouko storms across the room and slams the bottle down on the kitchen counter. The sound reverberates in a way that’s not natural, in time with the pulse of her power. “I don’t want to talk about it!” Another piece of ceiling flakes off and drifts towards the floor.</p><p>“I think you owe me that much, Knight.”</p><p>Chouko swallows, tries to calm down. “I didn’t realize it, not until Codsworth said it, but—there is a resemblance.” It’s probably why his face infuriates her so much sometimes, why she wanted to shoot him the first time she saw him; it reminds her of what’s missing. </p><p>She forces her energy to settle and fiddles with the flag on the counter, straightens a few other things to keep her hands occupied. Otherwise, she can’t be certain she won’t try something drastic. He fills space like Nate did. He holds himself with the same military rigidity. He—</p><p>Danse watches her squirm, only making things worse. “Codsworth has a picture. He showed Garvey and the mechanic.”</p><p> “<em>I’ve got your picture, that you gave to me</em>,” she sings low and husky, unable to stop herself. “<em>And it’s signed with love, just like it used to be.</em>”</p><p>Danse makes an odd noise, as if he recognizes the song, and that is enough to distract Chouko. He clears his throat and pushes on before she slips back into the melancholy. “They seemed—if this is going to cause difficulties for you, Knight, we can return to the Prydwen and I can request another sponsor—”</p><p>“You look like Nate. But it’s superficial.” Danse is bulkier, more scarred, more angular. More chiseled edges and fewer smiles. “You’re not Nate, and I’d <em>never</em>confuse the two of you.”</p><p>Nate recognized he was playing with fire the moment he laid eyes on her.</p><p>There’s a tense pause, as if they’re both waiting for her to go a step further, to add some unforgivable insult to follow up the vehement proclamation. Chouko forces the tension from her limbs and breathes.</p><p>It’s not an insult to be a different man than her latest dead husband.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Paladin. This puts you in an awkward position. If you don’t want to have me—“</p><p>“I asked Elder Maxson to send us out together on reconnaissance because I thought it would be beneficial for both of us.” Chouko stares at him, not quite understanding. He clears his throat and drops his eyes. “I would prefer to remain your sponsor and continue traveling with you.”</p><p>She lets out a breath and loosens her grip on the counter. She’s squeezed impressions in it but no one who notices will realize what they are amidst the other damage. She turns a faint smile on Danse, feeling oddly relieved despite her attempt to shake him only hours before.</p><p>“Thank you. I don’t want another sponsor. I meant it when I said you were the best.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It’s fun coming back to Preston six months later and dropping in on a much-more developed relationship where they’ve already been through some shit together. I really like Preston as a character and wish they hadn’t made him so annoying about the radiant quests in the first stage of the game because I spent a long time avoiding him.  </p><p>I forget if it was a youtube video or if I read it somewhere, but someone pointed out that Piper kind of looks like default Nora, and Danse kind of looks like default Nate and it seems like a deliberate choice by Bethesda to have early companions you run into resemble either dead spouse, so I decided to run with that here. Not sure why I feel the need to keep traumatizing this woman, lol. </p><p>At the end there, I figured as a country fan, Danse probably recognizes Patsy Cline.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>